Mindless Snogging
by Catelina
Summary: 13th CHAPTER UPLOADED and Letters to the Grim under ch11. Basically a DracoHermione story, but not so nice and fluffy. Draco finds Hermione in the library, and decides to do something a little less unexpected... REad and REview. Thanks
1. Library Banter

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. Author's Note: Hi, Hi. I hope you enjoy this. I don't quite know where this is going. But hopefully somewhere nice, I just decided to write a Draco/Hermione story earlier this morning. Anyway, Read and Review. If I get reviews I continue, otherwise, not. Hopefully this will be better outlook, as it didn't work so well last time.  
  
As I walk through the aging halls, which have surrounded me, homed me and kept me sane for seven years, whilst increasing my insanity at the same time, I wonder what exactly spurs a person to mindless snogging.  
  
He calls out to me; "Mione!" and I smile at Ron and wave my hand ever so slightly, before continuing on my way. Ron is probably off to meet Harry, who is mindlessly snogging his sister at this exact moment in the broom closet on the third floor.  
  
I slip through a pair of swinging doors, only ever closed when we, the students don't walk these halls, and even that, is a rare occasion.   
  
"Hello Hermione, that book that you ordered has come in." Madam Prince greets me, and I smile and gesture towards the back, grabbing the book that she holds out to me, as I walk past.  
  
A group of slytherin girls gear at me as I pass, but a glimpse at not only my prefect badge, but the head girl badge, shut them up quickly, and they return to whatever rubbish they were discussing before I passed. I've grown a bit in the last year, not a lot, but at least an inch, and I've filled out some of my once baggier clothes. Basically, one cannot say anymore that 'Hermione Granger is less than a girl.' My mother also attacked my once waist-length hair, leaving it at my shoulders, blonder and curlier rather than bushier. I can like now be like a teeny-queeny.  
  
I turn left into a dimly lit corner where I often read, and pause in front of a freshly shelved book. The gold words, which label its spine are enchanting, and I reach out to touch it, almost there, but stop as a familiar sneer rings out.   
  
"Still the bookworm, I see Granger." He smirks indifferently, and even with my back to him, I can feel him raking his eyes down my form. "Though in some aspects, definitely not so bookish." God! Is he still here? I frown and spin to meet the speaker.  
  
"What do you want, Malfoy? We both know where this is going. I'm going to tell you to piss off, you're going to do that sneer of yours which, if I might add is growing undeniably OLD," he growled in annoyance, and I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my lips, "and then you'll call me a mudblood or something like that, and I will run off and tell Harry how mean you are." I rolled my eyes, and sensed him do something similar. "Or not. The first two might happen if you're really lucky, but if you want me to be honest with you, I don't care what you say to me. Your comments grew old after fifth year, and unlike you, I've grown up. So How about I start this little charade." I paused for a moment, and raised an eyebrow before continuing. "Malfoy, piss off! Now it's your turn." I looked to him, waiting for his scripted response, but finally noticed an unfamiliar look in his eyes.  
  
"Now I could just play along, Granger, but where would be the fun in that, you think you've got me figured out," he took a step towards me, backing me up against the book shelf, and rested his hands on the shelves surrounding my head. "But maybe I'm not as predictable as you thought." With each word he seemed to lean in further and further until finally our noses were almost touching.  
  
I could feel and taste his breath upon my face, a mixture of toothpaste and something else I couldn't quite place. Being this close to him was uncomfortable to say the least, and I needed to rectify the situation, "Malfoy, I'll make this easy for you, just repeat the words after me. You're a mudbloo..." and suddenly I found myself lip-locked with Malfoy.   
  
His lips moulded against mine in a clash of passion, and I gasped as one of his hands snaked around my waist and brought me forward to him. "What were you saying, Granger? Bet you didn't see this one coming." He whispered against my lips as his tongue played over their surface. I shivered involuntarily, gasping slightly, and annoyingly gave him the opportunity he needed. His tongue plundered inside my mouth like fiery demon, and it took all my restraint not to groan as it raked against my soft pallet. I slowly return the action, letting myself fall into his mouth, and suddenly his tongue takes hold of mine and eases it fully inside. I groan into him at the same moment that he does as well, and he pulls me harder against him, moulding me against his hard chest. I almost feel like he's trying to make two completely different people into one.   
  
My other hand was slowly moving up his chest and came to rest against the back of his neck, my finger nails playing with the rat tail that his shoulder-length blond hair had been pulled into. I smirked against his lips as he moaned into my mouth, and quickly repeated the process of grating my nails across the sensitive place behind his ear. I was so angry that I was returning this, but there was no way in hell I'd stop, not when I knew that the looser would lose more than just a few uneasy nights. He mutters something against me, and I just catch the end of it. "God you taste good for something so dirty." I'm almost tempted then, to rip my mouth away, but his hands hold me in place. This was a battle of wits, which I had no intention of losing.   
  
His mouth leaves mine and I can't control the moan that escapes me as the feeling of his bruising lips leaves mine singed and wanting more. They move to my neck, massaging a small space of skin with his tongue and teeth, and then to my ear, "How does it feel, Mudblood, to have your blood boil hot with desire?" I shuddered and eased my nails deeper into his skin, pulling his ear so it was right in front of my mouth.  
  
I breath deeply, then whispered, "I dunno, Malfoy, how about you ask your friend downstairs and he might just tell you a thing about how well desire and mudbloods go together."  
  
I pulled away, easing my back off the shelf, and slipped under his arm, grabbing the golden-worded spine as I past. I knew he was panting, it was exactly what I was doing, and I merely waved the book at Madam Prince as I pass. My heart is beating like its never done before, and as I exit my haven, I slip to the side and slide down the wall of a shadowed corner. What happened in there? My mind screams, and I'm glad to remember that at least I got one up on him at the end, because he sure as hell had me pinned until then.   
  
The scoreboard was a hundred to Draco, nil to Hermione, until then.  
  
I squash my face against my hands, trying to dampen the red hue, which I know is painted across its cheeks, and startle, as heavy footsteps emerge from the library. He too stands there for a moment, his face also red, his breath pushing from his lungs in strangled gasps, and I know that this moment has not past unnoticed in his books either. 


	2. Proper and Perfect Faeries

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P  
  
Authors Note: Hi, Hi! Second chapter, be proud fellow readers, I actually have never been bothered to write a second chapter for anything, so be please with yourselves, you were my inspiration. Yun Fei, I know you said that you thought this had no real plot- and I completely agree with you! hehe In Author's note 1. I basically said I came up with it in about 3hrs, when I was considerably bored, and had no intention of continuing it. But thanks to you guys (reviewers), I feel much better about this story. I hope this gives a bit more a plot. I'm still deciding on the kind of development and relationship that I want to develop between the two. I added a little bit more to Chapter 1, and fixed up the format.  
  
My face was red, amazingly red, I could feel it burning under the dim lights of the Hogwart's Hallways as I slowly make my way up to the Head rooms, where my private space lies.   
  
"Mione!" A voice springs into my mind, and I spin and face Lavender who is racing towards me. It's only been five minutes since those moments in the library and I can still feel my hot cheeks. But as Lavender approaches I feel the heat burning in them, and I'm almost tempted to push her away as she engulfs me in a friendly hug, worried that they might burn her. "You look parched! Have you had anything to drink?" she asks, obviously concerned, and I have to wonder, after those years of experience that she's had, why she doesn't notice the embarrassed blush. How many times have I seen her sneak into the dorms at two in the morning, her cheeks burning with red flames, as she sets about giving us, her roommates, a blow-by-blow account of her experiences with Ron, or one of her other males.   
  
"No, I'm fine really, just a bit tired that's all. I was sitting in the sun for too long; heat stroke probably." I ramble effortlessly and just catch the strange look that she shoots me. Dammit Hermione, you know that you ramble when you're embarrassed and she knows it too. "I think I'm just going to lye down, that's all."  
  
"Rightio, Herms, but you know; you really don't look too good. Are you sure you haven't eaten something bad?" Maybe not eaten something, but he definitely wasn't good.   
  
Sure, Sure, keep telling yourself that. I slap myself mentally and plaster a smile on my face, willing my cheeks to cool even a little bit. "Hehe, silly me, must have been that carton of milk I drank earlier, it was a day old but it tasted fine." Again that look is sent my way, and I shudder. How am I ever going to live that laugh down? "I think I'm might just go now and lye down. If you see the boys, tell them I'll be down later to help them with homework." Lavender smiles at me sweetly before rushing off to talk to some one new, and I quickly walk away, shaking my head. Oh dear God, save me now!  
  
I finally make it to the dorms, and the portrait of Dumbledore outside winks at me. "Peachy Hankies." I mutter casually, and the door swung open, revealing a dimly lit common room. "Lumos," I say lightly, and immediately the lights surrounding the room come to life. With the lights on, and the shadows disappearing to the furthest corners, the room is an amazing sight. There is a single sofa in the shade of blue surrounded by two matching chairs of blood red, a reasonably sized fireplace, a small bar fridge, where my daily supply of milk lies, and a pair of French doors, which lead onto a veranda. I stagger into the room, my feet feeling light a breezy, and make my way to the veranda, the doors already half open, allowing a wafting breeze to float in. My cheeks are still hot. DAMN THEM! And I return them to my hands, trying desperately to destroy the flames, which lick at them constantly.   
  
Is it just me, or is it hot in here! Finally on the marble floor of the veranda, I pause and lean on the railing, letting the wind rustle through my curls and dry the moose, which I've learnt to ceremoniously apply to them. I learnt at the end of sixth year, that muggle-moose was the only thing that tamed them, and didn't change my appearance too much. Finally alone, I allow my mind to wander back to the previous events of the day, and find myself blushing all over again.   
  
I take hold of my mind firmly and beat it down with a stick before shouting at it over and over: IT WAS JUST A KISS! At that thought, my mind remembers something else, equally important. It was just a kiss, and it was with Malfoy. Oh dear God! It was with Malfoy! And then it remembers yet another equally important thing, which calms me slightly more. He kissed me. And I sigh, and realise, that I had no say in the action whatsoever. I think.   
  
My cheeks however, are still burning, and I'm becoming insufferably annoyed with them. I think back to the moment that has my mind consumed, and find myself blushing even harder. What is with today and these cheeks?  
  
I smirked against his lips as he moaned into my mouth, and quickly repeated the process of grating my nails across the sensitive place behind his ear. I made a boy moan, I've never made a boy moan. Another memory reminds me, and I almost moan again at the thought. His tongue plunders inside my mouth like fiery demon, and it takes all my restraint not to groan as it raked against my soft pallet.   
  
I snap out of my reverie as squeal suddenly erupts from me, as something icy cold is applied to my cheeks. I catch a pale hand running away from my cheeks and spin to meet my offender, already knowing, but agonising over, who it is. "Ice for your thoughts, Granger." He sneers, and I blush as I watch him slip the piece of ice into his mouth and his tongue slip lazily around it. He reaches out and quickly catches something on my cheek, but I shudder at the feeling of his fingers tracing my cheek.   
  
What the hell is wrong with me! Shoot me now! I'll give you the gun, take off the safety and line it up with my head, if only you'll take away this god awful feeling away.   
  
"You know, I never would taken you as a blusher, but it actually doesn't look too bad on you. Red's definitely your colour." He states casually, and my eyes widen considerably, as he leans up against the railing beside me. I'm surprised to say the least, and suddenly realise something absolutely unbelievable. Malfoy is being easy-going! I notice his appearance, his unbuttoned shirt, rolled up cuffs, and mussed up hair and realise something else, he is not easy-going, he is unbelievably nervous. My mind does a little jig, and I'm almost tempted to join it, until I see Malfoy staring lazily at me.   
  
"What!" I snap, annoyed suddenly by his manner. "I can't believe you... you..." I can't seem to finish my sentence, and he smirks that God awful smirk.  
  
"You can't believe I what! What Granger? That I kissed you! Believe me, you're not the only one! I had no intention of going anywhere in the relative area of your lips, but annoyingly tempting. In your prissy little uniform and your golden curls," he gives them a flick, as if, even now, they're annoying him, "you're just asking for someone to mindless snog the shit out of you. God you fucking piss-... bloody hell!" I take an uneasy step backwards, and finally notice the rolly that he's got in his fingers. They're shaking with amazing clarity and I reach out and snatch the cigarette away.   
  
My father smokes. Yes, he's a dentist, but that doesn't mean he has to have wonderful teeth as well. I deftly roll the paper around the thin strip of tobacco, lick the tab and press it down. "If you're going to smoke, at least learn how to roll." I mutter as I pass it back to him, and wonder how where I found the confidence.   
  
He raises an eyebrow at me, and there is a particular look in his eye. "You're just full of surprises, Granger." He smirks, and withdraws a thin, green lighter, decorated with silver swirls, from his pocket. Trust a slytherin. He lights it, takes a long drag and then exhales over the balcony, leaning against it as he seems to give me the one over. "What was I, Granger?" he wonders aloud, and I give him a look which passes on my lack of understanding.  
  
"What were you? Um, Ex-nay, on the eanis-nah, but at the present moment I have no idea what the hell you're talking about!" He infuriates me to no end, but at the moment, I can't seem to find my feet and walk away from him. His eyes are amazingly blue I'm noticing right now, and the breeze is blowing his loosened hair across his face in white waves. He could say he was a faery at this moment, and I sure as hell would believe him.   
  
"Your first, your second. No, of course not. That Krum guy, what was his name? Victor, he was probably your first, and Weasley couldn't have missed out on this. So, your third, your fourth?" He raises an eyebrow, and still I'm not quite sure what he's talking about, but there are radars definitely going off in my head. "God Granger! Do I have to spell it out! Your kiss! Who taught you to fucking kiss like that?" His voice is edged like a knife and I stumble back a few steps, my face being consumed by flames even as the wind blows across this small space.   
  
He looks livid, but even angry; I can just make out a faint red blush, which tints his cheeks. So it's not only me, the kiss did something to him as well. I'm relieved for a moment, and pause in my retreat, but quickly back up, banging my back against the wall as he proceeds towards me. "What the hell are you, to look so proper and so perfect when you kiss like some enchantress?" His words are laced with tension, and I suddenly find myself yanked forward, my face raised to meet his. His fingers are laced around my hair like raven's talons, and they pull hard on it, until I'm an inch, perhaps less from him. "Why does something so... so... alluring have to so dirty... so wrong?" And with that, he pulls my hair even harder, painfully hard, and I cry out. But my gasp of pain is cut short, swallowed within his mouth, as he pushes our lips together.   
  
His hold on my hair lessens considerably as his tongue playfully dances against my lips, and it almost feels like a massage. Both my hands are squished up against his chest and I groan as his tongue pushes through my quaking lips and breaks down any control that I might have had, had he not laced his arm around my waist and dragged me closer.  
  
My hand inches away from its imprisonment, as I lose myself in the kiss and slowly I begin to return the licking flames that he's erupting in my mouth. My arm winds its way around his neck and drags him too closer, and I feel that I cannot get enough of this annoying, insulting, devil-impersonating boy.  
  
I stand on my tiptoes, trying to entice more of the fire that's erupting in me, and all of a sudden feel tears dripping down my cheeks. I'm wrapped in a passionate embrace with my worst enemy and all I can think is one thought. How can anger feel so unbelievably hot...  
  
He too notices the tears as well, and as his hold on me loosens even more, the hand around my waist that had been caressing ever so slightly slowing, I can't stop myself from groaning, as I yank myself away. "I... I..." I can't finish my sentence or anything else that's happening in this situation and I touch my lips ever so slightly with my fingers, noticing that his lips are bruised, and wondering if mine mirror that look. He steps forward again, appearing to begin our actions yet again, but all I can do, is slip away and run into my room.   
  
Why is it, that in the last few hours, I've found myself scorched and burned, sitting upon my arse, in some darkened corner, wishing, that it had continued for so much longer, but with another person. I had no hope of catching up now.  
  
The scoreboard was two hundred to Draco, ten to Hermione.  
  
A door slammed and resonated throughout the Head Dorm, and I considered this. Twice I'd turned away from Malfoy's advances, and still he'd come looking for more, if I kept turning him away would this burning ever stop. I slipped my face into my hands and shuddered, what the hell was happening here. 


	3. Bleeding Cigarettes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P  
  
Author's Note: Okay, well thank you all so much for your reviews- you have now gained my luv for life, and gallons and gallons of hugs. Okay, some thanks are in order, but I will do that at the end. Okay, I was asked how old I am- 17years, a few months back. I have just finished school. Also, thanks to Gazy- for those questions, you've given me heaps to work with and I'm grateful (sounds sarcastic, is not meant to be). Okay, Draco and Hermione stories, as was said in some of the reviews often move extremely quickly, and I know mine is no different, but I'm trying to give mine a bit of an edge. I usually find there are only specific genres for Draco/Hermione stories: Draco is trying to be the dominant, overbearing male, taking advantage of Herrmione; or there is a gradual descent from anger to love between the two. Do not get me wrong however, because I know there are definite stories (many of them ^_^), which do not follow that, and even if they do, I still like them. My story, however, I'm trying to do something a little different with it, I don't know if I'm achieving it, though.  
  
Tribegirl17 mentioned that Draco seemed a bit abusive, and he is, but as she mentioned as well, he also seems confused. This story is based upon, a relationship which is purely confusing, that is aggravating and furiously passionate in an angry manner. To me, Hermione has always seemed very prim and proper, but also very 'up on her pedistool' (but I still like her character- she's an amazing person!) and I'm trying to make this appear as aggravating to Draco, her new look just adding to it. In a way, if I let a relationship evolve between the two, I wouldn't want to resolve the angst between the two, because that's where the passion seems to come from. The fact that Hermione hasn't given in completely to Draco, who is also, obviously confused is keeping me going on this. I'm going to be changing the view point randomly between the two characters each chapter, just to give you a bit of Draco's perception. Okay, I have no idea if any of that made sense, and feel free to reply to that in any way, I will understand, if you're confused (I AM!) or don't like anything I wrote, and I'm open to any suggestions ^_^ Thanks: Ghost, Sirius Black11, Miranda, Jessica, TribeGirl17, Eventuality, Yun Fei, Eventuality, Danish Girl, Hogwarts, A History Girl, Miyashiko. Tristanlover59, Jackeline, TribeGirl17, daintress, Gazy. Thanks guys, I hope I keep pleasing you guys with this story, and that you keep going with me. I'll keep updating, but I don't know how regularily, depending on my holidays. Want to know anything about mwa, go to my bio page. And writing, I love it. It's one of my passions. I've written a book, which I am in a process of editing and changing slightly. Cheers, ~Cai~  
  
Chapter 3  
  
My eyes are hazy as I realise what I am doing, but I can't help and regard her as she dashes from this windy enclosure, and from my obvious advancements. My entire body is aching with want and satisfaction, and I growl in anger. I check myself in the reflection of the glass doors, swinging easily in the breeze and find a completely new sight. My hair, every stand usually in its place, is rustled and dishevelled; my cheeks, usually pale in the light and ghostly white in the dark, are red; and my chest is heaving with deep breaths which are erupting from my bruised lips, each one making my pale, watery blue eyes glow brighter and brighter. My appearance aggravates me, and sparing one look at the damning sunset, I storm inside.   
  
Her door has just slammed shut, and I echo her sentiments with ones of my own. In my room, everything is confronting and chaotic, and at the sight of my full-length mirror, my appearance seeming to smirk at me, I tip it over with a sweep of my hand, and step through the shards of glass with cracking promise. What is she doing to me? So good and so much a Gryffindor, so obviously in need of change and disruption in her life. And I'm so enthralled with the idea of handing it over to her.  
  
At the far window, I sweep them open and perch on its sill, rummaging behind a seat cover until I extract a packet of cigarettes. As I place it in my mouth, searching my pocket for my lighter, an image of Hermione deftly rolling one for me minutes earlier and then returning it to me, erupts in my mind, and I sigh. Lighter found, I singe the cigarette's end and inhale deeply. Smoke billows from my nostrils, creating a thin grey film before me, and I close my eyes.   
  
"What the hell are you, to look so proper and so perfect when you kiss like some enchantress?" I take another drag on my cigarette and conjure an image of her in my mind. Even when she's not present in person, she infuriates me, has always infuriated me. Always a book in her arms, her long bushy hair sailing around her as if she's friend of the lightly, blowing breezes, and her face, glowing with the satisfaction of yet another successful class. Even now, when her appearance is so much more attractive, her figure so much less a girls, does she entice me with aggravation, rather than attractiveness. She seems to crave only books and intelligence. Her mind appearing, as I watch her prancing down the corridor, laughing or conversing with her two knights, to still be sorting through the work of a preceding class, and I want to growl from my hidden place in the shadows. How can she be so focused, when the world around her is so not!  
  
Potty and Weasley, standing every moment by her side, treating her like their princess, who is forever precious to them. How can she be so precious when she's so devious, so god, forsakenly damning? I slam my hand into the window frame, and moan in pain as I retract it from the woodwork, drops of blood dripping onto my pants. Kissing her is encompassing and enraging at the same time, and I wouldn't stop doing it if she didn't run away. Hearing her cry out in pain, is overwhelming, but having her return my favours, with ones of her own, makes me intensely obsessed with every inch of her. Like I am finally seeing Hermione Mudblood Granger loose control. When she returns the kisses, when her nails rake along my skin, like she's leaving her very own seal across my body, I feel like I'm drowning in some thick, murky ocean of passionate, hateful extremes, her golden tresses, leading me away to some hidden world.   
  
I smirk, even as pain ricochets through my hand. I bet Weasley never made moan. Again she appears on my mind, her hair hanging across her cheeks, and her eyes and lips quirking in a familiar smirk, and I realise that she's teasing me. Up on her pedistool, her intelligent mind is constantly working, going over some hidden problem known only to her, and when she catches me looking she smirks regally, and I'm tempted to return it, but all I feel is annoyance.   
  
Why haven't you come first in potions yet, Draco? Why is some mudblood beating you at everything! Lucius' words hiss in my ears and I scrunch my finished cigarette on the sill beside the other ten or so, and stagger once again through the glass, which litters my floor. Always right, always high and mighty, always someone to be proud of. That was Granger through and through, she was a huge thorn in my stye, and I am was hell-bent on ridding myself of her.   
  
I want to see her messed up, dishevelled, less than perfect, and I am already on my way. My body tingles as I step through the doorway and into the room, which acts as common ground between the two of us. And there she is, staring at the walls covered in books, and again I am enraged. Her robes are gone, and she is dressed in a grey, pleated skirt, which reaches her mid-thighs, and a loose, white, button-up blouse. Her hair is obviously wet from a shower, but even when she is oblivious to the world around her, does she still seem perfect, perfectly, and dauntingly flawless. In the dimmed, candle-lit room, she looks completely unspoiled, and it enrages me. Her lips are moving slightly as she catalogues the collection of novels in her mind, and I vaguely noticed the tinge of red, which labels her cheeks, but other than that; she seems no different to how she was that morning in the library.   
  
I am vaguely aware that she is turning around and that in a few moments, she is going to see me, but I can't seem to move. I'm seething with anger, as she moves away from the shelf and comes face to face with me. How... how dare she be unscathed? There is a small packet of cigs in my room; half finished during the time that I've fretted over what is going through my mind, and here she faces me, completely unchanged.   
  
Upon seeing me, she gasps, and retreats several steps, and finally I see a reward for my services. Her face immediately comes alight and the book, which she has, only moments before cradled in her arms, topples to the floor, resting against the stone floors.  
  
She looks... she looks nervous, and unsure, and I almost leap with joy. I have succeeded where I have seen everyone else fail. Hermione Granger, the great mudblood herself, and defender of her muggles, is anxious and jittery. I feel a smirk playing on my lips, and it spreads as she curses loudly and reaches down to retrieve the novel from the floor.  
  
"Don't do that!" she wails in annoyance, and after inviting the books back into her arms, she backs further and further away until a chair is between us. "Just leave me alone, Malfoy! I'm not going to play these sick, little perverted games of yours anymore! You... you... what are you doing?" She scrambles to get further away, only just noticing that I'm beginning to approach her. Her hair, is in disarray and draped across her eyes as she hurries to get out of my reach, but I'm oblivious to all this as I realise I must find out if she is real.   
  
In the twilight of the early evening, she looks anything but real, a faery in some schoolgirl disguise, and I find myself unable to stop my advance. She stumbles slightly as she backs away, her eyes wide in fright, her hands clutching the book to her front like some shield, and then she falls. She lets out a gasp of pain as her back and bottom collides with the rug-covered floor, and I pause, towering over her form, which lies below me. Her skirt is hitched even further up her thighs and her white skin, only slightly tanned by afternoons of reading under some tree, is visible and enticing to me. She appears almost bathed in a pool of milk, which has covered her from head to toe, and she glares up at me, the book lying lifeless beside her as she rubs her lower back in obvious pain.   
  
"What the hell is wrong with you? BACK OFF, MALFOY! JUST BACK OFF NOW!" Her voice is quivering with fear, and I glance her over. Her chest is heaving against the buttons of her shirt, exposing perhaps, a bit too much skin, and her face, usually so calm and restrained, is red and torrential. Her hazel eyes, flecked with small bits of green, which sparkle beneath layers of hair, are staring up at me, seemingly tired. Desperate to prove that only one, not of this world, could look as she does, but behave as she does, I reach out and grab her wrist, listening to the gasp, which erupts from her as my fingers collide with the skin of her thigh, and pull her forward. Finally realising just how real she really is.  
  
"You're real..." I mumble absently as I stroke her wrist, and suddenly I feel a stinging sensation erupting in my cheek. I snatch the offending limb in my other hand, and twist it menacingly behind her back, trapping her against me. That's the second time this little bitch has hit me.  
  
She too is now seething, and I'm beginning to wonder, why exactly I don't release her now that I've accomplished my goal. Hermione Granger is frustrated. "Get your dirty, sleazy, mother fucking fingers off me now, Malfoy, or I swear I'll more than just slap you next time." She threatens menacingly, and I'm tempted to believe her. She is obviously not entirely real, because whose eyes can flare to life like an erupting flame, if they're some boring mudblood.   
  
I lean forward, pressing my lips against her ear, waiting and being granted the shiver that she emits and speak, "Ssshh... little mudblood, for someone so prim and proper, something's obviously got you slightly flustered." I nip gently at her ear, and then move my lips to her cheek, where I graze them along its width until I reach the corner of her mouth. I fold her other arm in line with its partner against her back, and she growls in annoyance.   
  
"What are you doing? Let me go..." her words trail off into a spiral of nothingness as my lips graze her chin and lower lip, grinning in satisfaction as she again shivers against me, but I am only just barely controlling myself. I pull her even more firmly against me, and finally I meet her lips with mine, allowing them a mind of their own as they plunder and control the kiss which is suddenly reaching dizzying heights. Her hands are struggling against my hold on them, and I release one of them as I let my own travel around her waist where I splay my fingers across her stomach. She gasps against my lips and I pause for a moment, but only a moment because suddenly Granger is firmly against me, her tongue sneaking deviously into my mouth where it runs along the outside of my teeth and plays a game of 'one-on-one' with my own. Her hand, which I've released only moments earlier, is now buried in my hair, and pulls me closer, if it's even remotely possible.   
  
I stagger backwards, my back meeting the edge of a table, and I lean against it, pulling her between my thighs till she is nestled against me completely. Her kisses, which have left my mouth are leaving a light trail to my temple, where she stops for a moment as my own lips move to her neck, and gently run my tongue over a sensitive spot. She groans, squirming slightly against me, and I exhale deeply, causing goose bumps to rise over her skin as I moan gently. Ready to return my attention to her neck, I ready my lips, but suddenly find myself yanked upwards to her lips, where she whispers against them, "Why are you doing this?" and then wraps her arms around my neck, and kisses me hard and with furious anger. "I hate you! I hate you!" She whispers like a mantra against my lips, and I'm determined to cut her words short as I grasp her hips with my hands, and swiftly capture her mouth with my tongue.  
  
"Hermione!" A voice springs from the doorway, and we spring away from each other in time to see Harry entering the common room, his back to us. "I just thought I'd come and get you for dinner." He explains and turns to face the two of us, his eyes widening with surprise as he sees the two of us, not two metres apart, gasping for breath.  
  
"Harry!" She croaks, a small grin crossing her lips as she meets her old friend, the fa 


	4. Shadows of the Grove

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P  
  
Author's Notes: Well, another chapter. Hi, Hi, to all my favourite readers, you have my thanks and gratitude for all your support in the posting of my chapters. This has been amazingly hard but heaps of fun, heaps and heaps of fun, and I hope, even if these future chapters take a while, that you'll stick with me. I don't think you guys are reading my author's notes, otherwise you'd know how old I was. Haha :P  
  
Okay, well I'm 17years old, and I've just finished highschool; university next year, which will certainly be an interesting experience. I'm glad everyone is happy with chapter 3, I wasn't sure, I must admit, if it would be up to the standard that people seem to have set for me. But I'm glad that all my reviewers so far, have liked it. Writing from Draco's point of view was a trial, and it took longer than usual and a lot more effort (I got a headache, trying to work out some of his thoughts :P). It's also difficult because, he's a guy, and I'm a girl, so our thought patterns are slightly different, well probably a bit more than slightly. I'm trying to give you an image of the other character's personalities, as well. So I hope that works well. Anyway, back to the story. This is chapter 4, and it's going to be from Hermione's POV again. Hope you all enjoy it. Cheers, ~Cai~  
  
Chapter 4- READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTES!!  
  
I glance back at him for a moment as I slip through the portrait and Harry steadies me as I stumble slightly in my hurry to leave the antagonizing room.   
  
"Are you sure you're okay, Mione? We met Lavender in the Great hall and she said that you hadn't been looking to well so I thought I'd come up and check on you." He explains quickly, and hesitantly releases my elbow as we continue on our way to dinner. I sneak a look at him through my hair, and find that Harry is not the same boy that I met on the train, seven years ago on our first trip to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His nose is still crooked, after being broken early in sixth year; his face, once more chubby and round, is longer and stronger; and prominent lines of weariness and suffering, surround his mouth, once always ready to be loosened in an easy smile.  
  
Harry Potter, the downfall of Voldemort and the one and only survivor of the Avada Kedavra, is finally beginning to grow up, but who is this young man who towers easily over my five feet and five inches with his six feet. Where is the bright eyed, head-strong boy who rushed right into danger when his friends were at its centre? Where his eyes were vibrant and full of youth, Harry's are light and serious, and he thinks carefully about every action he might take and every response it might make.   
  
The acceptance that came from Sirius' death has produced someone sore of heart, realizing just how lacking he is in family. The loveless childhood that he experienced means only to harden his heart, but still we catch glimpses of the old Harry as he smiles secretly at Ginny, swinging her over his shoulder as they run from Ron. He still treats Ron and I with the tenderness of siblings, had he been blessed with them.   
  
We cross over the threshold for a moment, and I pause as Harry steps forward to be greeted eagerly by our friends, laughing at something Ron says and silently taking Ginny's hand in his. Seamus yells something across the room about the upcoming quidditch match and Harry replies, "On Tuesday, Seamus. I've booked a practice for fours hours; pass it on!"   
  
Ron groans, hanging his head in mock-sadness for a moment, before looking up and seeing me standing by the doorway. "Hermione! Just the girl I wanted to see! Where'd you find her Harry?" Harry and Ginny follow Ron over to me and Ginny quickly hugs me before returning to Harry's side.   
  
"She was in her dorm, Ron, like Lavender said. Malfoy was being an arse." Harry explains to Ron, who grimaces and shrugs to me. Ron is still overly animated when it comes to Malfoy, and it is only he that can provoke Ron into his drama queen production. Fluer, Ron's girlfriend, is probably the only one who can fully calm Ron down after one of his bouts, but then again, Fluer could probably cause anyone to calm down. With one look at her blue eyes, Ron trips over himself to arrest her hand in his and   
  
"Speak of the devil," Ginny suddenly states, and nods her head to a separate door, which also enters the hall, where a familiar head of white hair is just entering. I quickly look away from his person, feeling my cheeks burning with memories of my previous encounters with him. Previous, meaning plural, and almost feel sick about what is going on with him.   
  
"God! He's such a pompous ass!" Ron sneers angrily, upon hearing Harry's words, and turns to me, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze, "You'll tell us, won't you, Mione, if he does anything at all. Harry and I won't hesitate to beat the little shit." Ginny snickers for a moment at her brother's declaration.   
  
"You wouldn't really call him 'little' any more, though, would you? He's basically Harry's height, and he's certainly not a skinny ferret, anymore." She giggles and winks almost knowingly at me, before denying everything as Harry and Ron both give her looks of disgust. "I'm only kidding guys! You know that I think Malfoy's a git." She pats Harry's cheek, shushing him like a little child, before standing on her toes and kissing him on the cheek.   
  
I spare a look at the three of them, Ron gagging at the sight of Harry and Ginny kissing, before storming off to talk to Seamus, with a "God! Get a room you two; I'm her brother for God's sake!" My eyes flitter across the room and unintentionally land on Malfoy, who is standing off to the side, talking quietly to Crabb and Goyle. His cheeks are airbrushed with a faint red paint, and his hair, usually so meticulously shaped is rustled and messed. I remember my fingers grazing through its roots, pulling on them and clamping my small limbs around bunches of it, and suddenly remembers who exactly messed it up.  
  
I feel my cheeks burning at the thought of what was happening just moments before Harry dropped by, and of what might have happened if he hadn't. "Mione? Are you okay?" Harry's thoughts break my centre of thought, shattering it into pieces and I immediately hesitate with what I was about to answer with. I can almost imagine what I must look like to them, how I must appear. My cheeks are still burning, sizzling against my skin, and I lace a hand across my cheeks, as I stutter to find a reply.  
  
"I... I..." I look up from the floor and finally find a familiar pair of piercing, blue eyes, staring intently at me. His eyes wander over my face, and to my pleasure, realizing that I am not the only one, his cheeks flair to life in a mirror of my own. "I think I have to go outside, Harry. I think I must have come down with something." I spring for the door, the words already escaping my mouth, as I notice the look crossing Malfoy's face. It is almost predatorial and I wish that it were directed at anyone but me.  
  
"Will you be alright? Do you want us to come?" Ginny's voice erupts behind me, and I swing around at the doorway and say, "No... sorry... I think I just need to be on my own." Flying from the room, the wind against my cheeks as I streak across the open field to a shadowed area just before the forbidden forest, I pause and rest my head against the trunk of a tree.   
  
Hermione Granger, I think, is not the same girl. Why am I standing under the night sky, trying to extinguish the flame that is burning in my cheeks? I shake my head but gasp as a hand drips fingers across my skin, raising goose bumps as it goes. Who, but he, could have fingers that are so icy cold, in weather that is so abominably hot. I shiver involuntarily and a cackle seems to erupt from inside him, and the sound shocks me so much that I take a step back. Halting my footsteps, I wrap my arms around my waist and twirl to meet him, the curls of my hair whipping around my face in a blur of gold.   
  
He stands before me, his eyes dancing with a dangerous glint, his hair rustling in the night air, and his cheeks dancing with cherry-coloured specks. Unbeknownst to myself, the thought that he has to be the most beautiful looking man I have ever seen flitters into my mind and I blush even harder, words stumbling from my mouth in a cluttered mess. "Wha... wha..." What are you doing here are the words that I mean to say but they don't seem to be making any sense, and I unconsciously reach up and touch my lips, seeming to think that touch will cause some sense to tumble from them. The glint in his eyes seems to deepen their crystal colour and I find myself edging backwards until my back meets the trunk of another tree. In the darkness, his hair is a beacon of white flames, and his eyes shine at me with a dragon's antagonizing stare.   
  
Dragons: Their skin is as hard as steel, their noses pick up scents kilometers away, whilst their eyes are enchanting pools of crystal. If one looks hard and long enough into the eyes of a dragon, they fall beneath a spell of enormous potential, which allows the dragon complete control over the person.   
  
My mind, every piece of information that I've discovered, catalogued in some small part, opens up a single folder and I immediately surrender my mind to this small snippet of detail. Who, but a dragon's son could control me in such a way? I try to blend into the tree as I am captured in his cunning eyes, but find myself shivering as he takes several gallant steps forward until he is right before me.   
  
"Didn't they ever teach you, Mudblood, that anything can happen, if you stand outside in the dark by yourself." He remarks, looking over my shoulder and at the dark lake, which lays only a few metres away. One of his hands is laid flat against the wood beside my face, whilst his other plays with a strand of my hair which lies across my cheek. My own words suddenly spring to the front as his hand trails to the hollow of my neck, where it sends shivers through my spine. "Leave me well alone, Draco Malfoy, or a swear you'll regret coming near me. Just leave me be!" What am I doing? I'm standing here in the shadows playing handsies with Draco Malfoy and insanely enjoying it. I whip my head up to meet his eyes and they swivel slowly till they are poised and ready to strike down on me. "What are you doing, Malfoy? What is all this?" I hiss at him through pursed lips and he smirks, his eyes darting from my lips to my eyes, where they widen ever so slightly. He lowers his head till its rested in the crook of my neck and I shudder silently, compelling myself not to moan, as one of his arms wraps soundly around my waist.  
  
"I have no idea," he trails off, his mouth moving delicately and lightly against my skin. He pulls me tightly against him, and I stand stock still, tense and ready to brandish my wand if he does anything else, but as his lips suddenly kiss the sensitive hollow of my throat, I find my wand slipping from my fingers like water. His other hand trails the hem of my skirt against my thigh as his lips blow a silent symphony against my bare skin and I brace myself on his shoulder, the fingers of one of my hands clenching the top of his robes, whilst the other hangs lifeless by my side.  
  
"Why?" I manage to mumble through my tightened lips, and he shifts his advancements until his forehead is placed gently against mine. His eyes are heavy lidded and his hand ceases its caressing motions upon my thigh as he stares hazily at me.   
  
"Why, Mudblood?" He whispers, his voice sounding shocked almost. "Why, she asks." He growls, against me, and I can feel his breath hot against my face, making me dizzy. "At first, you just seemed so perfect and so proper. You were asking for all this, but now. Now that you're standing here, I can't seem to pull myself away..." he whispers against my face, his lips grazing mine lightly several times during the spiel. "What spell have you put on me, faery; that anything you ask, I would give to you on my knees?" He seems almost limp in my arms as he nuzzles at the corner of my mouth and I exhale softly, completely mystified by his behaviour.   
  
"Malfoy? Please, stop this. Stop this now! I don't like games and I refuse be a player in this one." I moan into his lips as he moulds mine to his. My mind is shooting radars at me from above telling me to cease this lip-lock, but I can't seem to control what is happening anymore. My eyes are wide and glued on his face, as he kisses me, his tongue pushing through my lips until it reaches mine, and suddenly my own is returning his attention. His arm around my waist tightens even more so, and my eyes slide shut as I tell myself 'I am waiting this out, and then I will leave.'  
  
Malfoy says something against my lips, and I drag myself away, "I can't seem to stop playing. Your lips are bruised like cherries, and cheeks are red as fire but all I can find to do with myself is extinguish them. Tell me, Mudblood," he pauses, and suddenly grips my face in-between his two hands, "why this all started as a simple game and I'm now left picking up the bloody pieces on my own?" For some reason, I find myself angry at his comment, how dare he kiss me with such reckless abandon, but call me such terrible names.  
  
"Perhaps," I wrench my face from his grips and stagger backwards, "it's because you're a jerk! How... how dare you call me a mudblood as you stand here kissing me until... until I can't speak right?" I cry angrily, tears suddenly spilling from my eyes and onto my cheeks. "You're picking up the pieces, Malfoy, because mummy and daddy aren't here to pick them up for you, and I sure as hell aren't going to help you!" I stagger backwards and suddenly find myself falling back into the lake, where I land ungraciously with a splash.  
  
Water sprays around me like a fountain gone wrong, and I can feel the water soaking through my white shirt, making it cling precariously to my skin. I squeal in astonishment, finding the water unbelievably cold, but whilst raising my hand to push my hair from my eyes, I find it grasped in another and then I am pulled upwards. I land firmly against Malfoy and uncertainly look up at him. "How can you call me Mudblood, when you so willingly kiss m..." I don't finish my sentence as his lips descend on my cheeks and I find him kissing and licking the droplets of water, which are dripping from my hair. "Don't Malfoy..." I trail off endlessly, as his mouth hovers just above mine, his breath mingling intoxicatingly with mine. "Malfoy, don't!" I manage to mumble against his too-close face, as I struggle to free my arms from the constraints that his chest has placed upon them, and he suddenly pauses in his ministrations and smirks down at me.   
  
"In quite the predicament, aren't we, Granger?" He whispers against my face, his breath melting the tears that fall down my cheeks, instead causing them to flare to life like a fiery demon. "You set the illusion that you're so flawless and so innocent; so inexperienced and unknowing, but I see you for what you truly are." His lips graze mine, and one touch makes me want to groan for more. His lips seem to be the only thing to quench my thirst, which erupts from the burning in my cheeks. "You've weaved some spell on me to make me yours and I can't fight it." He pauses again and stares deeply into my eyes, his eyes glazed over with something of a lust-based emotion and I can't help but reply.  
  
"I haven't done anything..." I whisper to his face, and it contorts almost angrily.   
  
"Haven't done anything?" He screams to me, the air so hot with the summer breezes that the humidity seems to absorb his words that they go no further then me. "How could you not have done anything? How can you stand there and deny that you've cast such a spell? Of course you've done something..." he wrenches himself away from me, and stands there breathing haggardly, his hair miserably messed and his eyes a fighting confusion of emotions. I almost feel sorry for him as I look at him through wet strands of hair. Usually so sure of himself, Malfoy is no longer that. He stands before me, his voice creaking with shameless confusion, his eyes unfocused and his mouth, so well known for its ability to fold into a sneering smile is tense and drawn closed.   
  
"I can't stand you, but... but I can't seem to leave you alone! It's not even a day and I've spent more time around you than I have any other girl!" And suddenly he has gripped the tops of my arms and he has pulled me to him.  
  
"I haven't done anything to you, Malfoy!" I say this, but my body, pressed tightly against his, knows that he's performing just as strong a spell over mine. Had it not been so, I would already be in the hall, spurting to Harry the whole occurrence, and urging him to defend me. But... I am not... I am here, in the shadows of the forbidden forest, clenching and unclenching my fists as my enemy holds me firmly against him. I would already have broken away, but now... I can't...  
  
"Kiss me, Granger." He hisses against my cheek, where his lips furiously burn a cunning brand. I turn my head, meeting his eyes with mine, and the encompassing blue of their pits immediately enraptures me.   
  
"No..." I whisper, and his eyes widen even more so. "No, Malfoy. This may be the first time you've heard it before, but it won't be the last!" I ease myself from the gradually lessening grip that he has on my arms and take several steps back until he is partially hidden behind the first line of trees, his hair being the only beacon for receiving my words. "I... I won't play these games anymore. Find some other whore to play with; they're much more willing, because I may be some middle-class, muggle-born witch, Draco Malfoy, but I will not be known as yet another number on the Malfoy's conquering list." His whole face is shadowed by the darkness of the overhanging branches, but it does nothing to hide the image of Malfoy's confused face.   
  
"Good evening, Mr Malfoy." And with that I walk away, back to the laughter of Ron that I hear emanating from inside the glistening hall, back to the squeals of Ginny, which erupt from her as Harry chases her out of the building and back to Harry with his easy smiles and trust...  
  
~*~ Read Authors Notes Now and Then REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!!  
  
Gosh! This took quite a while to write. Sorry to all my reviewers who wanted this posted sooner, I know I did a terrible thing by getting your hopes up by posting really quickly at first, but this chapter was quite difficult to write, because I hade to try and figure out where this story was going. But now, hopefully, I have a slightly better idea of what's happening. Also, Christmas is tomorrow, so shopping has been a terrible hazard and I've been away and working constantly, so I've been pretty busy. Also, the computer kept eating the first page of writing, so I had to keep re-writing it. Can you say masochist! It was the most awful experience; every time I tried to write something, it would eat it munch, munch and then, I would go and re-type it.   
  
Thank you to: Danish Girl, TribeGirl17, Angel Gurl, Tristanlover59, a fan, NDNHoney, Reviewer, Anabelee, Crushette, dabalittlelove, ghost, Blanche DuBois, Miyashiko, sosweet22. I will try and write individual replies, but I thought I should get this posted as soon as possible, so I will say thanks to all my reviewers!! You guys are fantastic, and great for reading this story and having so much faith in my ability. You comments have been great encourgament :) Remember to read the Authors notes at the beginning!  
  
Cheers ~Cai~ 


	5. Scars of A Dragon

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P

Author's Notes: Well, Christmas is over, and I'm glad you all liked Chapter 4, because personally, I really liked that chapter after I posted it. I went to and read over what I wrote, and for the first time, since beginning to write chapter 4, which took just over a week and a bit, I actually liked what I wrote, and all my reviewers have thanks for this, because, you're all giving me confidence in my writing style. Oh dear God, my friends will think, she's getting an enormous head! Hahaha :P

Anyway, Chapter 4 was kind of an explanatory chapter. It gave you an insight, I hope, into Draco's own opinion on what is happening, and also a bit of an explanation. As to whether this story is going to get all raunchy to meet the 'R'- rating; personally, I don't know. I don't know if I trust myself to write anything to sexual, but you were all quite adamant about the 'kiss', which I wrote in chapter 1, so we'll see. But at the moment, I'm trying to take what is happening between the two, really slow. Actually, it seems to be going backwards, if I remember what I wrote in chapter 4, because now Hermione's completely turned away, so who knows!! Here is chapter 5, I hope you all enjoy this chapter- I really did, and it shows you a little bit of background.

This is rated R for violence in some bits. I hope you enjoy it all the same.

Chapter 5

The grounds of this school seem to grow still as she walks away and a cloud passes across the moon, shadowing this eerie grove in a darkness, which is cold and foreboding. I watch her lips moving, speaking to me as she places a distance between us but I tune out, wishing not to listen to anything she has to say. Her tongue always was cutting and razor edged, though now, seven years after our first meeting, it seems sharper and more easily provoked. Her words are those of warning, and as she staggers away from me, I look away.

I lean my body against the trunk of a tree and pull out a packet of cigarettes, extracting one with my teeth, before lighting it. The wind ruffles my hair, and as I exhale, I run a hand through my silver locks and sigh, the cloud of noxious gases before me growing.

"What are you doing, Draco Malfoy? What are you doing?" I mutter to myself, and think of my behaviour not moments before. I look to the lake, and then to its shallows where, just moments before, she was displayed. Her breasts pressing against her clinging, wet shirt, her cheeks stained red with embarrassment as her hair clings to her cheeks and finally her lips, which are parted in an exclamation of surprise. I can't help but believe that she is she gorgeous in a simple but enchanting manner.

_"I... I won't play these games anymore. Find some other whore to play with; they're much more willing, because I may be some middle-class, muggle-born witch, Draco Malfoy, but I will not be known as yet another number on the Malfoy's conquering list."_

Her words cut through me over and over, and I groan, remembering what it is to have her in my arms.

Is she part of my _conquering list_? Is she just another Pansy? God I hope not! My relationship with Pansy went no further than Sixth year, but it was a year I wish now to never think of. She brought more harm then good to my life as a whole, and to think I might have, for a single moment, considered her a friend.

Pansy is a blond-haired beauty of full, buxom curves and pouty expressions. Where I am slim and well toned, she is round and curvaceous, but her personality leaves so much to be questioned. Her father is in league with my father; both past death-eaters, and I was brought up in her deceiving, conspiring company. Where I am the epitome of the Slytherin paternal persona, she resembles that of the maternal.

The nights by her side, when we shared a bed were quiet and eruptive, and I spent many a night, when she was asleep, awake. She sleeps like an angel, her face calm and deliciously innocent, but inside that conniving subconscious, she plots and maps out conquests of her own. For two years we weaved webs of our own around the other until we could see neither lies nor truths in the other's words. We stabbed the other precariously in the back with our words and taunts to others, but where I might withdraw the knife and clean it in a symbol of honor, she would spit and leave it protruding from my back like spear of victory.

The moon is showing itself again, the clouds moved onto another place in the sky, but I continue my thoughts. How could two people, so well matched in looks, wealth and personalities end up in such a battle of wills. Slytherin's princess wins again, obviously proving the theory that women always get what they want.

_"How could you, Draco!" She screams at me, her words spitting acid at me, as they echo in the entryway. "Did this mean nothing to you? Who's the slut that has you twisted around her fingers, sir? Who is she so I can rip out her heart and serve to you on a platter!" She shrieks at me, and throws the first of many presents that my father presented to me to give to her. The emerald earrings. _

_"There is no one, Pansy! I just don't want to see you anymore!" I hiss at her, trying to indicate that this should be kept slightly quieter. _

_"Don't you dare try to shut me up, Draco Malfoy! Don't you dare!" She shrieks in retaliation, and I have to give it to her; the tears that splatter down her cheeks definitely add to the picture of 'wronged and dishonoured princess'. _

_"What's going on here? Mr Malfoy, what did you do?" Professor Minerva McGonagall asks, whilst wrapping an arm around Pansy's shoulders. Not only a Gryffindor defender, McGonagall seems to be the tyrant ruler of this schools' females. _

_"Nothing, Professor, I was just having a conversation with Pansy, in which she doesn't understand." I try to explain, but Pansy shakes her head venomously and quickly interrupts me. "He cheated on me, the bastard!" She screams angrily, and the torrential tears seem to start up again as the Professor shushes her. _

_"We will discuss your treatment of the females in this school at a later time, Mr Malfoy, but for now, I expect to see you everynight this week, outside my office for detention. Come dear, lets get you washed up and ready for class." The tone that she used to address me immediately becomes soft and caring as she pulls Pansy away, but as they turn around, Pansy looks back. Her round face is expressed in a gleeful glare as she licks her lips and narrows her eyes. "Not this time, Draco dear, not this time." She whispers, and as if magic, her voice carries to only my ears._

I had to hand it to her, it was a job meticulously well done. Everyone in the school, most of all, the Slytherin house believed me to be a cheating, lying bastard. I am lying bastard in a sense, but cheating, no, that never went down to well with me, and I never once cheated Pansy.

My reputation was ruined more than I thought was possible and when I had returned home for the summer that year, my father, always the sadist at heart, beat the living shit out of me.

_"The Dark Lord is not happy with your treatment of Miss Parkinson, Draco!" Lucius yells before he releases the whip. Over and over it strikes my back, and the blood seems to splatter against the walls of his darkened workrooms. My cries are deafened in my ears, and I can feel a distant ringing in my head. "She was meant to be your bride! I was meant to be second in command, but now that Parkinson man is in my place!" He screams, and I glance up at his face and am greeted by the most horrific face. Blood has sprung onto his cheeks, and his long, blond hair, usually so neat and tightly pulled back, is mattered with his son's blood. _

_"Well Draco, what do you have to say for your behaviour?" I glance up at his face, and am about to speak, before my head begins to swim in a mountain of bright lights, and then next thing I know, I am awake in my room._

Two weeks of passing in and out of consciousness, and a back covered in scars, which dig deep into the bones of spine, are what I am presented with when I awaken.

I shudder, drop my cigarette on the ground and stub it out with the toe of my shoe. My breathing is shallow and all I can think about is the maniacal expression, which decorated my father's face that fateful day. His eyes, once a bright vibrant blue of scary perspective are dulled and angry. His forehead is creased and his countenance is pasty and pallid after years of being cursed and hexed, whilst his lips remain pursed and scrunched up into an angry, condescending smirk. I slip to my knees, my forehead leaning against the trunk of the tree, as I bring up everything that my stomach contained. My back aches as if someone has prodded it with a wand, over and over and over. And when it is all over, I bang my fist against the hard wood before scrunching my face up in pain and trying to contain the scream, which wishes to burst free from within me.

I raise my head as the wind blows a light breeze across my hot cheeks and I see the glint of glistening wood within the grass. A wand. To be more precise, it is Her wand.

_I wrap my arms around her small waist and draw her to me, knowing that at this moment, I may be hexed into oblivion by the wand, which lies in her fingers. But her scent is so arousing, so intoxicating that I bury myself in the crook of her neck, before dragging my lips to the hollow of her throat where I press them gently against her skin. Gently? I have never been gentle before, I recall. _

_A light thump echoes after my attention and as she exhales deeply, I realize she has dropped her wand, almost as if, even when her mind rejects me, her body plays for me. The hollow of one's neck is usually warm and slightly clammy, the sweat of one's body building up in the small cavity, but hers is burning hot and brilliantly soft, as though the blood that pounds beneath that spot is like boiling water. I find myself wanting to taste it. _

I shake myself from the dream like memory and scramble to claim the wooden stick, which lies in the short grass. I wrap my fingers around its surface and her scent rises to my nostrils. It's a mixture of the fresh scents, that of grass just cut and strawberries in bloom, autumn leaves just falling from their branches and woodchips, freshly lain, and I wonder if she's placed another spell on this to enchant me. Kissing her was meant to be aggravating to her alone, but it seems as though this is more my conundrum, than hers.

_"What spell have you put on me, faery; that anything you ask, I would give to you on my knees?"_ Here I am, on my knees, with only the shadowing trees to witness it. I look sharply at the piece of wood in my hands, unsure of the power that it holds and nervous of its ebony colouring which I recognise as being rare, and suddenly a series of images trickle from its end.

_"Hermione? Hermione, come here and see this!" A voice I immediately recognize as Potter's emerges from the brush and I watch as she rushes across the snow-covered grounds to a younger, rounder potter. _

_"What is it, Harry?" Her face appears to me, and I recognize the younger form of my heart's recent desire. Her hair is longer, but just as curly and blond as it is now, but her cheeks are red and glistening, and her shoulders and clothes are covered in flecks of snow. Weasley also emerges onto the scene and their laughter, hers ringing clearest in my ears as if I'm suddenly attuned to everything about her, erupts from the collection of images as the two boys grab her round the waist, throw her up into the air, only to then let her fall back into a pile of snow. She erupts from the snow like some captive demon, her amber coloured eyes - bright with furious humor, and her cheeks, red like before with a brilliant crimson._

"Granger? Really, Malfoy, I would have chosen differently for you." A voice breaks my concentration and the images drop into oblivion as I turn to face another. Not my mind's subject or the wand's but another. He stands beneath the moon, but his face is shadowed beneath dark, curling hair.

"Zabini." I state dryly, and pick my feet up beneath me, pocketing the wand. He doesn't smirk, he doesn't smile, he doesn't even sneer, but his eyes glitter with something best hidden. A darkness to his soul, similar to mine, glimmers in their depths, and I blink, suddenly uneasy around this friend and foe. Exactly like me, but so different, Zabini puts me much more at edge then I at him.

"What do you want?" I address him sharply, and he raises a neatly groomed eyebrow in my direction, adding a single emotion of catty superiority to his expression.

"From you? Nothing. But dinner is beginning and Crabbe and Goyle are getting impatient." He smirks and I rake my eyes over his face, trying to find out what hidden message he means, but as usual, Zabini's face is mask of lost emotions.

Blaise Zabini, son of Mikael and Gabriella Zabini, is the epitome of the Slytherin persona - cunning, non-trusting, spiteful and a trait which is seen in only the most well bred of purebloods – sinister. With his tanned features, inherited through his father's Italian background, and framing dark hair which shadows pit-like eyes and brushes the top of his black, robed shoulders, Zabini is the devil disguised of a school child.

Mikael taught Blaise to be without emotions, his face a blank piece of cardboard; one moment he is happy, his face spread in an abrupt smile, while the next moment he is as solemn as pouting child. He beat these lessons into his son with a whip and needle, decorating Blaise's body in an intricate maze of scratches, gashes, and washed away scars of blood. Where my father taught smirks and anger as a weapon to command over ones personality, Blaise was taught to never show a single emotion that may correspond with what he actually felt. The scars of torture, which run through Blaise's mind, are dark and deep, and slowly corrupt his mind with the pollution of dark arts.

As a young child, I spent many afternoons in the company of Blaise, watching his back and grimacing at the scars, which attacked every portion of his body but his face and neck. My father was more careful with his blows, landing them where they hurt the most but were seen the least, and many childhood day, I walked with a limp, or breathed with a painful gasp as a broken rib pressed almost fatally against my lung.

I watch as nothing passes over my 'friend's' face and sigh. Where I wish I could draw him away from where his mind folds itself inwards, I know such thoughts are fruitless. Revenge is the only thing on the mind of a death eater's child, the scars which torture his or her mind have more depth than blood, and one can not help but think dirty, wrong, damning thoughts of everyone around them.

I find the image of my father's face, as he whips me over and over, my cries of pain deaf on his ears, rising in my mind, and I shake myself, trying desperately to come to terms with these thoughts which betray my soul. Zabini's face portrays his obvious betrayal already, and I wish desperately that he kept an anchor that I could release to hold him steady, to keep him just above the surface of the dungeon depths which holds him, but I know that if I stepped too close, I'd be pulled under. The hatred in me for my father, for even my mother, is so strong that if I sought to help him, I would sacrifice my own self, and I am not that brave.

The sorting hat's song sings in my ears, its sweet tune –

_Or perhaps in Slytherin you'll make your real friends, those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends..._

I wasn't placed in Gryffindor to be brave; I was placed in Slytherin because it saw in me the anger and hatred, the conniving mind that my father spent years perfecting. And so when I seek to help a friend, I shall, but not bravely or with conviction.

Besides, Zabini doesn't want to be saved.

I snap back to present time and see that Zabini is regarding me with nothing more than that dangerous, uneasy glint that his eyes always seem to behold. Like he is plotting something.

I swagger past him, but pauses as he speaks. "You won't get ten feet of her, Malfoy, without being burnt alive." I wonder how true his words actually are, and remember the heat that erupts in me at the mere thought of her. But then, the dragon of Slytherin bears his own fire and it cannot be diminished.

"Too bad, then; I've already narrowed the distance considerably. She is mine to have, and mine alone. If one hair is touched, one hair out of place that was not done by these fingers alone, then you'll know why Malfoy's were once the Lord's right-hand family." I growl, wondering why exactly I feel so angered by these words. I slip away from Zabini, making my way into the great hall to eat my supper, and without surprise find him already seated in the shadows of the table.

Across the room, laughter fills the room, and I watch as Potter takes the youngest Weasley by the waist and swings her towards her seat as she squeals. Beside her sits the golden faery, her cheeks ablaze with a reddened fire, and I realize that my mark is left. A dragon's scar does not fall away so easily, and she will realize that in coming time.

Author's Notes No.2- Wowee- Chapter 5 is finished. I know, it took a while, but cut me a bit of slack, I've been heaps busy, what with Christmas, New Years Eve and work. I hope you all liked Blaise's character. I actually had a lot of fun writing for Blaise, and writing the flash back scenes. I'm trying to keep Draco in character but also slightly altered, to show the confusion and slight tragedy of his life. There was no Hermione-Draco interaction in this chapter, but I thought that they needed a bit of a break. Four chapters of kissing, is quite a bit, wouldn't you think.

Now- I would like to thank: Aluma, sosweet22, paperdoll04, Charlene, QueenOfBlackJack, alenchic, Blanche DuBois, Zirconiatheblue, ghost, Baby-Prue, c[Rud[Edly, Vilmathien, Dracos Hottie, FoxyChic4U

Aluma- Thanks for you review, and I'm glad you've liked the story and its chapters so far. I'm sorry it took so long, and I hope you like Draco's POV

Sosweet22- here is chapter 5, thanks for reviewing. And happy holiday to you too.

Paperdoll04- Glad you're liking the chapters so far. Thanks for reviewing Charlene- I'm glad you like the detail. I pride myself on having detail and explaining things through, because I hate it when you don't understand something because people don't write enough. Here's Chapter 5- Hope you enjoyed.

QueenOfBlackJack- Okay, in answer to your questions- here is draco's POV, and secondly, I think I have a good idea where this is going, but I think it may take a while. This maybe a long story. Thanks again.

Alenchic- Are you a fan of escaflowne (the name?) I'm glad you really like the story, and that you're glad about Hermione's personality. I think it would bother me, if she didn't resist him. Thanks

Blanche DuBois- Ah yes, the art to playing hard to get. I think Hermione has perfected that one. Glad you like, keep reading and I'll keep updating.

Ziconiatheblue- Here is the next chapter, glad you're enjoying the story

Ghost- I'm glad you're still reading this story, as you've basically reviewed every chap. I think. Thanks for the encouragement, and happy holidays to you too.

Baby-Prue- Glad you're liking all the chapters so far. And to your question: Lust or Love? Well you'll just have to read to find out.

c[Rud[Edly- I'm glad you had fun reading this, even if it was by coincidence. Perhaps the God's do like me- hahaha :P Heres the next update- Thanks.

Vilmathien- Thanks for your comments about my writing skills- I love writing, so when people say they like it- I'm glad. Here's Draco's POV for you, and I hope you liked it.

Dracos Hottie- I know, I'm jealous of Hermione too. Having Draco like that to you- yummm :) Glad you're liking the story- and heres chap 5.

FoxyChic4U- Heres the next chapter, glad you liked chapter 4- sorry it took so long.

Thanks to all of you guys for reading this, and giving me your thoughts. I'm so glad that you like it, and I hope you'll stick with me, as I continue this. Thanks again.

Cheers, and make sure you REVIEW!!

Cai


	6. Memories of Trauma

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P  
  
Author's Notes: Well Howdidoodee reviewaroonis- okay, I know, I know; too many 'oo' vowels. Chapter 5 was really well reviewed and received, and now, here is chapter 6. Chapter 5 was a really difficult chapter, or perhaps, not so much difficult as it was- trying. I got severely frustrated throughout the whole process, but, I got it up, and it seemed well enough liked. Chapter 6 is back to Hermione's POV and I have to admit that I am glad. Draco's character is quite dark really, and I like the idea of swapping between the two, gives me a break from both people, who occasionally cause me angst. Chapter 5 gave you an insight into Draco's upbringing and the 'Slytherin' persona, which people seemed to have liked.  
  
I'm really glad that everyone likes my style of writing. It is the greatest praise for a writer, I believe, to have people say that their writing is interesting and enjoyable, so thank you. I don't want to drag Hermione and Draco out of their character statuses, as that is who make both of them who they are, but I also want to develop their characters, give them more room to grow into the same but perhaps slightly different people. Hopefully, as this story grows and Draco and Hermione's characters develop, so will their friends and the people surrounding them, and so in each chapter, I will try and focus on the person whose view it is from (Draco or Hermione) and perhaps another such person.  
  
Thanks you all so much for reviewing, and I'll hope you'll stick with me, even though I'm an amazingly slow writer. ~Cai~  
  
Chapter 6 Dinner finishes as Dumbledore gets to his feet, and as my eyes travel the length of the room to rest on the elderly headmaster, they land for a single moment on my 'hunter's' form. His face is stern and serious, his eyes facing forward through the long, blond strands of hair which overhang his face, but as I stare, the moment growing to be longer, his eyes shift, and turning his face every so slightly, he looks at me.   
  
I freeze, my eyes caught by his as my cheeks grow undeniably hot. His eyes, blue as evening ice, stare illicitly me and I choke for a moment before dragging mine away, and folding my face in my hands. Those eyes, my mind shrieks like a banshee, and I shudder involuntarily, trying not to raise my head to stare at his face. My neck aches as I place my face against my knees, and finally, in the darkness, which looms beneath the table, those eyes disappear and I am left to think of him on my own. My hands have begun to shake again, and in the darkness of the underneath, I can see the faintly growing light, that through the day I conceal so well, but at night, begins like a beacon, shining the way for those haunting memories to return. I scrunch my nailed claws into tightening balls and try to stop the rigorous tremors, which assault them.  
  
Those piercing eyes burn the inside of my eyes and even now, when I am hidden away from their penetrating stare does my stomach do back flips around my innards, collaborating the thought of retreating into myself. I breathe deeply and place a hand on my heart in the darkness, feeling it beat hungrily against my fingers. It beats like the rhythm of a clock and I wonder what exactly it ticks to; what event it counts down to.  
  
"Hermione..." Harry's voice breaks through my thoughts and I look at him, ashamed of how I must look, wondering why he doesn't question the heat, which burns my cheeks and flames them to life. "Dumbledore is talking about a prefect meeting..." he trails off, returning his eyes to the front, and I quickly follow them only to find myself eye-to-eye with Dumbledore. Beneath the table, my hands shudder and twitch against the folds of my robes, but for now they are concealed.  
  
"This meeting is for the Head Girl and Boy," he looks purposefully from Malfoy, who I force myself not to look at and then at me, "and the prefects of each house. It will take place tomorrow night after the dismissal of dinner and I wish for you all to be there precisely." He pauses for a moment, seeming to direct his next statement at Malfoy and I, "Please make sure that you have decided on some choices for the upcoming events. Thank you for your patience, you're dismissed." I get to my feet slowly feeling tired and drawn all of a sudden; the day's events have taken their toll on me. My eyes pass unconsciously across the room's mass of moving bodies and one body, slipping away into the shadows, catches my eye and I pause and watch him. I wonder how such a person can slip away or upon someone so silently with such a head of hair. I watch for a moment as he lifts curtain and takes a passage and feel my eyes blaze to life as he looks back. Even in the shadows those eyes glint with a mischief that I can catch from here, and I feel propelled to take a step towards him.   
  
What am I doing! I realise as my feet lift to move, and my eyes widen in fright as his eyes take in my movement and narrow with what appears as a deep passion. Those eyes, they hold a deepness and dark intensity, which freezes and burns me at the same moment, creating within me a mess of conflicting emotions and I feel myself flare to life. Here, in the narrowness of this icy world, my body feels free and bound at the same moment and I want to gasp at the saturated emotions that roam freely in my body, that make me want to scream in frustration.  
  
I watch him standing there, regarding me and I want to hit him so hard that he bleeds, so hard that that beautiful face is flared red with the print of my hand. How dare he?  
  
"Mione!" Ron suddenly declares and I snap my head around to face my carrot-haired friend. "Why didn't you tell us about the upcoming events? What are they? What are we doing? Is it something dangerous?" The words seem to shuffle from his mouth in a clutter of syllables and I watch in amazement as his tongue whips in waves around the different consonants and vowels. Fleur must have a lot of fun.  
  
I realise he is still talking, and steady the smile that threatens to bloom on my face, "Ron, Ron, Ron. Don't you think I would have told you everything by now, if I knew what was happening? Upcoming events, as professor puts it, are as much a mystery to me, as they are to you." His face flairs for a moment to a deep red, and he shuffles his feet in embarrassment. Come a time, Ron and I may have snapped at each other with astonishing tempers, but those times are gone.  
  
Ronald Weasley has grown tall and sure of himself. There is a certain sparkle in his eye, which disappeared some years back when his spirit was broken and he watched his best friend's heart break as their only family disappeared behind a curtain of black veil. Seven years of facing the peril of the wizarding world alongside Harry has taken its toll on Ron's face, leaving a certain rugged, creased look, which seems unusual in someone so young. But if one was to ask Ron to play a game of Chess or to take a swim in the lake, which lies in a paddock just beyond The Burrow, a glow returns to his cheeks, which one cannot mistake for anything but happiness.  
  
At night, he sleeps, surrounded by photos of those he smiles at, those he laughs with and those he loves, and when he awakens, although the childhood gibberish of his past which erupted in him an untameable anger is gone, there is something different in its place. When he slips his arm around Fleur's waist, or stalks into Molly's kitchen to grab another piece of Slippery Fudge, his eyes reflect a calming ecstasy which makes me want to grin and cry at the same time. It never used to be there, and I wonder how such experiences in someone so young could make them so happy, could make them seem so alive.  
  
"There is not a day that doesn't go by, Hermione, that I don't wish my life could have been different." Ron once said to me, as we were about to hop off the train at the end of our sixth year. Harry was not on the train; he was still out cold in the hospital of Hogwarts. "But," he continued, and I almost choked on the streams of wetness that coursed down my cheeks, as I saw tears spring into his eyes, "I would still make the same choices, the same decisions, I'd just erase the moments in my life where my anger or jealousy got the better of my love for you and Harry. There is nothing in this world that could keep me from you two, unless Fleur was wearing something utterly adorable," he pauses and adds on the last bit, earning a punch in the arm from me, "and I thank everyday for that. I thank everyday for my friends and teachers, for my family, because if I don't, and I one day wake up, and find, like Harry that I've lost one of you, my life would be a poorer experience, my life would be sadder, and I'm not strong enough to think I could go on." He admitted, and I bit my lip, before throwing myself into his arms and covering his cheeks in kisses.  
  
"Always, Mr Weasley, always. Forever you will always be in my heart." I whisper to him earnestly, and after some time, we slowly release each other and holding hands, we walk from the train.  
  
There is a serenity to him, that now, when he says something, is thought through thoroughly, and has been comprehended in his mind as a good or bad statement. No longer the boy who had a raw bout of 'foot-in-mouth' disease, Ron is more considerate; Ron has matured. But sometimes, late at night when the memories of my experiences at Hogwarts overwhelm me and I feel tears coursing down my cheeks, I want to howl in pain and scream in anger at how much he has changed. I love him every bit as much as I did when I saw him and Harry for the first time after being petrified in second year, and I never will stop, but there is something different about my red-haired friend, there is something so unlike the Ron I met seven years ago, which hurts so much, because I realise that it is because of us, Harry and I, that he is the way he is. What we have experienced as the Golden Trio has changed each of us so much, but it is only in each other, I guess that we really see the truth of all this.  
  
"Sorry, Mione. I'm just excited! The heads, no matter who they are, always seem to think up the best things!" His eyes are alight with amazing clarity and I grin at the excitement, which he expresses like an overjoyed three-year-old. "And since you're our friend, you will of course favour any event which will be good for Harry and I." He says, raising an expectant eyebrow at me, and I roar with laughter, and clap him across the back of his head.  
  
"Oh, so, is that how it's going to be, Ronald!" I shriek in mock-anger at Ron who seems to be twiddling his thumbs before he throws an annoyingly cocky smirk at me, and hurls me over his shoulder. "Put me down!" I relentlessly scream in earnest, beating his upper back with my fists, but he just laughs manically, and insists on running me to the Gryffindor tower.  
  
I glance up from my assault of Ron's back and see Harry and Ginny chasing after us, the mouths open with laughter, whilst their cheeks flush a brilliant red with the exertion of running. "Ron! Ron, put me down! Put me down this instance!" I shriek, and he finally pauses, and gently pulling me off his shoulder, he places me on the ground before him.  
  
"Well, that was quite an event." He says casually, and wrapping an arm around my shoulders, he pulls me into the Gryffindor common room, and over to the fire. "We don't see nearly enough of you, Mione, since you started all your prefect duties." He tells me, as he pushes me onto a seat and sits opposite me, in the other plush, red-velvet chair. He drags it almost close enough so our knees are touching, and then gives a horrendous tug on the couch that Harry and Ginny have collapsed on.  
  
Here, in this room, where at the present moment, no one but us four sit, all is happy and alight. The fire casts an amazing glow across the room and the paintings of past Gryffindor prefects and the heads of this brave house, make amusing background noises to our laboured breaths which rush from our lungs as we try in earnest not to laugh. The last month or so, spent within the confines of the Head Rooms, have been somewhat intriguing and heartbreaking. Alone in my bedroom, I can stay up as late as I want, reading and going over whatever I please, whether it be the extra notes I requested from Professor Flitwick or, much to his annoyance, Professor Snape, or one of the many muggle magazines that I have accumulated. Here I can hide away my scars and none will be the wiser, none will know how these plague my mind. But as I lie awake in the lightest of my clothes, the quilt and sheet stuffed to the very end of my bed, I miss the sounds of my friends' breathing as they slept in the beds, which lined the female dormitory. I miss the squeals of delight which Lavender used to emit when she returned from one of her many adventures with the males of this school. But most of all I just miss the company.  
  
Until recently, company has been hard to come by in my dorms, and Draco and I, although relatively civil, if you call speaking a maximum of two words to each other, civil and resorting to much used insults, have maintained no close contact. I rub my face in my hands, tuning out to my friend's conversation for a moment and think of the situation I have found myself in. Company seems almost too much now, especially the company of a specific Slytherin, who undeniably makes me rethink everything that I am, everything that I thought I was and would be.  
  
"I can't stand you, but... but I can't seem to leave you alone! It's not even a day and I've spent more time around you than I have any other girl!" His voice creaks in my ears, over and over, and I find myself unable to stop myself thinking about him. There is a vicious temper hidden beneath him, which he hides so well behind a disconcerting, disinterested air but watching him stand there, flustered and drawn out, his posture resembling an old man whose very state seems to be breaking, I cannot help but feel something stir inside of me, and I clench my hands, to stop them shaking. There is something inside of me, which aches with uncontrolled emotions as I stop myself wanting to believe what he says and turn my back on his charismatic, passionate eyes. I have to turn my back on him, because of my friends, because of me, because of how much he could hurt me.   
  
Deep inside Draco, there is an obscure hate and trauma, which has captured his soul, which shines so brightly when he leaves himself open. I feel drawn to that person. Drawn to the person who can't hide the anger, the furious loathing, which seems to simmer like a curtain of raw emotion around him. But I can't help but hate him as well. For six years he has taunted and teased me, insulted my family and my friends and dealt harsh blows to my pride. It is he, whose family supports a man of torment, it is he who follows in his father's footsteps, and he who neither apologises or shows remorse for the actions performed by him.   
  
His glare still penetrates my thoughts but beneath the glare, which is irked with anger, and still is begrudged by such hateful emotions, is a passionate fire, which beckons and scares. I can't help but be drawn to that like a bug to the light. I crush those thoughts, remembering, my words to him, the words, which I so easily threw in his face like the summer's breeze, the words which I cast out with such skill. My voice reverberates in my head, and I groan.   
  
I... I won't play these games anymore. Find some other whore to play with; they're much more willing, because I may be some middle-class, muggle-born witch, Draco Malfoy, but I will not be known as yet another number on the Malfoy's conquering list. My hands begin to shake as my mind remembers the glimpse of hollow coldness, which conquered his eyes with my words, and I fold them in my lap, trying to contain the shuddering quakes, which rip through their nerves, a result of my preceding experiences. I want to expose these hands to Malfoy's eyes, push them until he can see how damaged, how broken they are, and show him that I am no faery; that I have cast no spell. What spell have you put on me, faery; that anything you ask, I would give to you on my knees? Anything I ask, anything I wished for? If that were so, he would leave my side and never play such games with a mind already harmed by those he lives amongst. One has no choice in their enemies, but friends are but one of the few choices in a life.  
  
"Mione?" I glance quickly at my friends, and find myself staring into Ginny's blue eyes, the concern and distress which is openly expressed in them, directed entirely at me. "Mione, are you okay?" She whispers, as Harry and Ron splutter with laughter at some memory of Seamus' attempts to woo Lavender.  
  
"And then, and then," Harry continues, his cheeks blushed with a glossy red as he tries to contain his laughter enough to get through his story, "he walks right up to her and hands her a bouquet of flowers and a poem personally written by Seamus Finnegan." Ron roars with overly loud laughter, but Harry quickly waves his hand to show the story isn't finished. "And then, he recites the poem to her, whilst holding her hand to his chest." The two of them snort and fall off their chairs, their laughter echoing in the stone mounted room, and I roll my eyes at Ginny. There are moments, when we are all together, that it seems like it did so many years ago, when things did not trouble our minds.  
  
"If I might add something to this story," I whisper, "he performed the poetry very ill." She giggles, but the laughter doesn't reach her eyes and continue to portray worry.  
  
"Mione, what's wrong? Something's been bothering you for a while now. I can't figure out whether it just began at the beginning of this term, or whether it was after the 'fall-out' last year. Do your hands still shake?" She asks, her blue eyes turning black with hurt and alarm, concern and distress.   
  
I withdraw them from the folds of my laps and give them up for inspection. My copper-haired friend gasps, and tears spring to her eyes, and she gently touches the shaking limbs. As if in answer to an unvoiced question, I speak, "The medicine Madame Pomfrey gives me only lasts so long, before the shaking returns and the colour reveals itself." I trail off, casting my eyes to the lit wood in the fireplace, and try to unclench my teeth and resist the urge to hit something or to last out.  
  
There is a distinct change that has occurred to my small group of friends, those to their demeanour and personality being most widely noticed, but physically, the years have taken their toll; physically, we have been scarred by our years of fighting a man who I won't even deem worthy to mention. And I find that the fingers, which used to encase butterflies with in their cages, are more clumsy and slow. Fingers, once quick to snatch a wand and cast a spell are careless and I do not trust their sometimes-erratic movements.  
  
Ginny eases my hands into hers, and she rubs her thumbs across my scarred skin, her eyes growing large at the unusual display of colours spreads in a kaleidoscope of hues beneath. My hands, once pale and well figured, are marked and blemished by veins, coloured by silver, green and blue, which run to the folds of my arms. Hands, once perfect in appearance and state, are no longer real looking and shudder and tremble like I'm unsure and nervous of myself. "This potion will conceal your hands, child, if that is what you wish. It will only last for three quarters of a day, where upon the shaking will soon begin again, and the colours will soon fade back into place." Madame Pomfrey's says softly to me, as she stands before my prone figure, which sits on the very edge of the bed. My hands clench the around the bed sheets and I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth tightly together.   
  
"Oh child," the patron whispers, and she takes my hands, and kneels before me, her face looking up at mine. I had almost forgotten she was there, "what have they done to you? Professor Snape has a large portion of this medicine produced so when you need more, just ask. Hermione?" My eyes dart away from the lady's concerned face and I look to the beds, which hold my friends. Harry lies prone within the folds of a white sheet, the twitching of his foot showing his place in the living, whilst his arms lie still by his sides, the tops of bandages, wrapped tightly around his waist and lower chest, just visible.   
  
From the bottom of his waist to the centre of his chest lies a gash, an inch deep and wide. From it oozes a silver and green blood, which slips from his body like mercury across water, and sleeps in the veins surrounding the wound like an intricate spiders web. I watch him lying there, restful, and feel hope in the belief that perhaps the worst is over, and that Harry, the boy who has slept for two weeks now, will awaken soon, but my thoughts are cut short as an almighty wail erupts.  
  
"STAY AWAY FROM ME! HERMIONE! RON! GET AWAY FROM ME! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME! SIRIUS! DUMBLEDORE! GINNY!" The last of his cries erupts from his chest like a hoarse wail and tears spring to my eyes as his hands reach up into the air, pushing and shoving at the people, which haunt his mind. His scream resonates throughout the room, and I step off the bed, desperately trying to make the decision to go to his side or run away. "Hermione..." My name reaches my ears, and his eyes are wide open and staring blindly, the pupils covered in a silver mist, which stops his sight. He is still alive but asleep, his thoughts dead and abusive. "Make them stop... Voldemort... he is coming! Oh dear god, help me! Ron, please... get Dumbledore, I can't feel my legs... WHAT ARE YOU DOING! MOTHER! FATHER!" His voice rings like a banshee's plee, and I watch the cowering boy who lies strangled in his bed, fighting his nightmarish memories.   
  
There are memories in our minds, permanent ones that haunt our thoughts and break our smiles, but there are moments in Harry's where he is alone, and where I never got to him in time, where Ron never stood at his side, and when Ginny never held his hand. There are moments, where he faced the terrors of his existence on his own, and it is these, which haunt him first. These are they, which his mind plays over and over like a broken record player.  
  
"Mione? Mione, come back to us..." Harry's voice is closer than it was, softer then it had been, and I open my eyes, feeling drugged and tired to see Harry's matured and older face staring at me. He sits on the floor at my feet, his hands wrapped around mine, and I can't help but bite my lip in an effort to stop the tears. "Oh, Mione... your beautiful hands." He whispers, and I see that he is staring dumbly at them, "Why didn't you tell me? Why did you keep this to yourself?" He wonders aloud, and I look to Ginny whose eyes are wide with unknowing.  
  
"You didn't know, Harry? How could you have missed the potions that she takes three times a day?" Ron's voice startles us, realising that we had forgotten his presence, and I drag my eyes from his sister's face to his.  
  
"You knew? You knew and you didn't say a word?" My voice quakes and I stare at him, my eyes wide with astonishment, "How could you have known about this?" My eyes glaze over and I find myself suddenly embarrassed, withdrawing my hands from Harry's and trying to hide them beneath the folds. "I... I need to... to go..." I mumble and get up quickly from my chair, knocking it some distance away.  
  
"Hermione, don't go!" Harry demands, but I look at his face and feel scared. There is a strangeness to my hands, a scarring which attracts unwanted attention and questions, and I don't want to see the reaction that my friends would have. I stumble backwards, towards the portrait hole of the room, and with a quick word, I am through that hole and in the darkness of the corridor. In the darkness, I can't see my hands, and I don't need to think, just for a moment how horrible particular moments in my life have been, how much hate they have caused me. Reaching into my pockets, I withdraw a pair of black, dragon-hide gloves, and slip them neatly over my fingers.  
  
"For you, my dear." Dumbledore tells me, before I board the train, and he tucks into my clenched hands, a pair of gloves. "After several long nights, Professor Snape and I have discovered that only dragon's hide will conceal such things. When you need to, just slip them over, and they will conceal the shaking and the scarring." He says, and I give him a gentle smile, a kiss on the cheek and enter the train, just catching the last of his words, "Oh, my poor, poor girl, how badly the world has treated you." I trip over my feet as I stagger to my rooms and find myself sprawled upon the ground, my cheek pressed against the cold stones of the floor, once beneath my feet, and I feel tears dribbling down my cheeks. I choke on them, mucas and salty water catching on my tongue as I try desperately to breath and suddenly I am being heaved to my feet.  
  
"Well, what do we have here?" A familiar voice startles me, and I shriek in fright, just stopping myself from throwing up my disfigured hands in protection. The blue eyes, concealed beneath straight, dark hair, watch me in amusement, and I take a moment to contain myself before meeting his stare. "SEAMUS FINNEGAN..." I manage to calm the tone of my voice, "what on earth are you doing here?" He possesses a cheeky grin, which only an Irish could have, and takes my gloved hand, folding it in the crook of his arm.  
  
"Why, accompanying you, of course. In hopes that one, miss Hermione Granger may grace me with her presence on a date." He looks at me with smiling eyes, and a wide grin, and despite myself, and albeit Seamus, I blush.  
  
"Oh, a date, really, and will Lavender be accompanying us on this one, or shall I see her on another one." I joke, for a moment feeling carefree and unthoughtful of anything but the banter passing between us two.  
  
"Lavender has never appreciated me as you have, my dear." He tells me, and pats my hands gently, the gloves playing their part and concealing their true state. "Appreciated you? Yes, I guess you could call it that, but unfortunately I shall have to decline your choice." I say, my eyes, feeling almost sad at the thought.  
  
"Nay, Lady, don't offer sad eyes to I, for there are others who would take my offer, but yours is a heart for winning not taking." He says gently, and suddenly we are at the entrance to my chambers, and I look to Seamus. "There is a hurting in you, Hermione, which runs as deep as the blood and water in your soul. Take off your cloak before you give yourself away; do so openly with no secrets. You're a good friend, Hermione, to all who honour you with that name." He presses a kiss to my forehead, before slipping away back to the Gryffindor tower, and as I watch his shadow dissolve, I unwind the hide, which binds my hands, and step inside.  
  
The room is dim and seems colder and more severe than the other common room, and I shudder as I step further inside and see that the doors to the balcony are open. Walking idly up to them, I lever them shut against the harsh winds blowing outside and place a hand against the cold glass. My hands, webbed with silver and green veins, glow delicately in the twilight of the room, and for a moment everything is deadly quiet and then something grips the top of my arms, and it is an untimely reminder of my past.   
  
"You stupid, Mudblood! This is no place for a dirty little girl!" A blond haired man, sneers at him, but despite the fact his face is hidden behind the confines of a mask, none but his voice could be so familiar. This voice rings in my ears and I find myself face-to-face with Malfoy's lucid expression. He is seething; his face a mask of every surging emotion, and as he holds the tops of my shoulders, he pushes me up against the glass. His face, centimetres from mine, is heaving with ragged breaths and as he looks at me, his eyes darting from my nose to my mouth to my cheeks and finally to my eyes, I catch a glimpse of something tormented, something clinging to the last ounce of sanity. All of a sudden his lips are upon mine and there is a furious passion behind them, which I hate because it makes me seek more. My hands, swept to my sides by his vicious hold on them, are shuddering and withering at my side and as his tongue slips across my lips, drinking in their softness, biting down on them, and drawing a single drop of blood from their red confines, I shudder. "What are you doing?" Our eyes, wide open as we kiss passionately, vehemently, venomously, quake with something in response to this connection between us, and suddenly he is renching himself away, placing the smallest of distances between us.   
  
"How do you do this, Mudblood? How can I want to stand here with you and want to hit you as well? What are you doing to me?" His voice sneers at me, and I shiver involuntarily, finding his countenance, at the moment, a little too much to handle, a little to intimidating.  
  
"Let go of me, Malfoy! Get you hands off me! I don't even want to be here!" I hiss at him, and I see a smirk tug at the corner of his lips, his demeanour suddenly changing all of a sudden.  
  
"Have you finally realised, Granger, that life isn't a perfect sunshine, that life isn't always friends and family, that life can also be moments of abuse and torment." He closes his eyes, his breathing calming ever so slowly, and with only the slightest of hesitations, leans forward and brushes his lips against mine. The lightest, most gentlest kiss ever presented to me is quickly drawn away, and when I look at him, my face already flared to life with a fiery hue, his face is contorted. There is something pained in his expression, as if doing what he has just done, is a trauma for him.   
  
"Anything that made me realise this, was done by you and yours. Anything that brought torment or pain, was done by your hands." I spit at him spitefully, and his face flushes red, his eyes flashing to a frightening black, "How can you still be the same? How can you still act so happy, so mighty when you... you..." He raises his hand away from my shoulder as if to hit me, and suddenly the nightmares of my past are present and I cannot contain the scream that escapes me.  
  
"NOOOOOOO!" It drowns out the howling of the wind, it drowns out the presence of Draco Malfoy and all I can see through my stagnant eyes is the image of hooded bodies.   
  
His body lies upon the floor, beside the remains of a steaming, repulsive snake of a man, and all I can see through tears is the hesitant rise and fall of his chest; a chest slashed and cut by claws and blades. From Voldemort's body, beaten and bloody, seeps a sticky paste, a paste of silver and green, and it slips into Harry, drowning itself in the scars that it made. I scream for help, for guidance and suddenly they are upon me, pulling and shoving at me, compelling me downwards to the dirt of the floors, and I raise my wand and shout a string of hexes, curses, anything that can move this awful mass of bodies which is suffocating me.   
  
"Expelliarmus!" The bodies closest to me fly backwards, and as several of them land around Voldemort's body, in his blood, which has pooled around him, it splashes upwards and upon my hands, singeing and scorching them. Again a scream erupts from me, as the blood burns my hands, and as the pain contorts my mind, dragging me into darkness, I yell for help, I yell the last thing that comes to my mind. "Expecto Patronum!" From my wand a misty coil unwinds itself and flinging itself into the air, the great bird, an eagle of great spans, erupts and throws itself before me. Its body, not at all like that of Harry's is silver and green edged, veins of these colours seizing the folds of its feathers and the contours of its neck. And as I slip back to the ground, it folds itself around my body, and through silver-laced eyes, I watch as the spirit of the dark lord soars towards me, determined, it seems to rid itself of its final slayer. I watch him growing closer and my eyes widen as he takes hold of my hands in his and darts me forward, pulling me against him, finding that despite the fact he is so ghostly, he is solid. I scream as he raises one of his hands to belt me across the cheek, quivering as pain laces through my fingers. But suddenly I am falling back to the ground, staring at hurt fingers, laced with silver blood where there once was red, and as I drop into unconsciousness, the patronus slowly deflating with each sleepy wave of my eyelids, a single cry rings out and shatters through that man's body like glass, and then nothing...  
  
My scream startles Draco's face, and he stares at me, his hands no longer near me, his face no longer close, and I raise my hands and smother my face. A gasp emits from the back of his throat, and he grasps my fingers nimbly in his own, searching the shining veins.  
  
"Where did you get such scars? Why are your hands such?" He whispers, his eyes wide with something I haven't seen before. He doesn't appear scared or concerned, rather he just barely seems to control a moment of recognition as his eyes take in the site of my hands.  
  
"Get away from me, Draco! Just leave me alone. You know nothing about me, and what I do; you don't see all that there is! These hands don't want you touching them," I tell him foully, snatching my hands away and knowing my eyes are already silver laced, "and this face does not want your kisses. Don't offer anything to me on your knees because I wouldn't want the son of such a man to come so close to me. These hands are useless, Malfoy! They are scarred and damaged, and I don't need you to do anything more to me, you've already done enough!" I scramble away from him, and when I finally reach my the doorway of my room, I glance back at him, the charismatic, egotistical, self-centred man, who has me thinking of him so often, and I find him still facing away from me, his eyes still poised on the place where I stood moments before.  
  
In the darkness of my room, tears burst through my eyes, and I cannot stand for a moment longer, before I slip into a sofa chair, which lies, listlessly beside the door. No fire is brewing in the fireplace and as the chair creaks under my weight, I sob. In the darkness of the room, but one thing shines forth and I curl up tighter into myself, hiding my hands within my folds. I wish that he would leave me alone, for when he does, the space in my heart grows larger not fonder and beat of my heart grows slow and steady, but there is a heat which floods through my veins and erupts in my cheeks, which fails to disappear, and a subtle ache in my body which overwhelms my thoughts, when I wish that he might leave me be.  
  
~*~  
  
That is chapter 6, I am so, so, so sorry that this has taken so long, and to the last two reviews that I got- Sarah and grey tears, I am sorry for keeping you guys waiting :) I know how frustrating it can be. I have been so busy the last few weeks, what with university offers, and accepting them and entering in particular courses that I haven't had a lot of time to write this, but because of feeling bad that I hadn't updated in so long, I finished this in the last two days- I wrote 12 pages in two days!! OMG!! I really hope you enjoy this chapter, and the next chapter, I promise will have Draco/Hermione interaction- I promise. I have already begun writing it. Sorry again for taking so long.  
  
Thanks to my reviewers: Jackeline, Baby-Prue, sosweet22, grey tears, Legolas Chix, Draco_Fan, Ennoymoon, Draco's seeker, Innocent Little Birdie, padfootsknightingale, Aluma, lizzy-malfoy87, Zirconiathblue, DanishGirl, In Dreams, Mystykitty, Blanche DuBois, sarah. Thanks so much for reviewing guys, it was so appreciated, and you guys make me update, even though it still takes ages. Please stick with me, and have patience, because I will always update, it might just take two or three weeks. Thank you so much to those people who wrote really long reviews, I have never been so flattered in all my life and been so proud of my writing. Your comments in my fanfic, have made me more confident about my book, so when I've finished editing it, I'm going to send it to a publisher. Thanks guys,  
  
Cheers,  
  
~Cai~ 


	7. Bottles of Sunlight

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P  
  
Author's Note: I know, I know- I'm a terrible, terrible person, but it couldn't be helped. My computer was broken. I went away for a long time and University has been starting. Gosh- uni, I can't believe I've made it, but unfortunately, I'm back to slogging it, and if I go in the direction I want to, then I will have seven years of it, to attend. I am so sorry this has taken so long to upload, gosh, it definitely has, but chapter 8 is already started and there is definitely some interaction between our favourite couple next chapter, not that there isn't in this chapter. Thanks for all the reviews. There were so many, and I feel so blessed. You're all giving me a mighty big head, it's not healthy I tell you, not healthy!!  
  
Anyway, on with the chapter, as people seem to want.  
  
Cheers,   
  
Cai  
  
*~* means the beginning and end of a flashback scene as italics have decided to be little shits and not show up in the upload. Haha :)  
  
Chapter 7  
  
When the sun filters into your room, leaving everything but shadows to be desired, one seems to think that one should perhaps be awake, but at that present moment, the sun is but a blanket which covers me. I fold my hand over the silky cover of a pillow, which is smeared, into my side and clench my fingers. In the sunlight, the room seems at ease with itself, almost like it is rearranging itself around me and as I watch more carefully, the small particles of dust become illuminated in a waltzing dance.   
  
A sigh escapes me as the sun's beams spring across my hands, and without the gloves to hide their shades they glow and shudder. In the sunlight, the veins, which line my hands with sea greens and tormented sky blues, seem to slip away from the sun, sidle deep into my hands so that a small cloud of colour illuminates them, instead of the deep set streams. Pin-pricks of pain seem to grow over my skin and as it always has, ever since the last year, the sun makes me want to hide and fold away my hands, so they're no longer under its full glare. I run them through my hair, stopping for a moment on the more incessant knots, which are amidst their mass and for a moment cradle my head in my hands, the shaking fingers shivering against my scalp as they pause.   
  
A window, open in the corner of my room blows a faint breeze across the room, and despite the residing heat, which seems permanently settled over the whole of the castle, goosebumps rise across my skin. The curls of my hair rustle in the wind and a few strays rise up and out of the trellis of fingers, finding themselves drawn into its mess. Standing up, I sway lightly in my place, and for a moment darkness threatens to mingle with the light and I find myself falling forward and supporting myself on the chair as last night rises in my thoughts. His voice, his hands, his body against mine serve as another reminder for a past with which I wish to forget, but for some reason, he stays hidden no better than the blush that seems to rise in my cheeks.  
  
I stumble away from the chair, a hand in my hair, grasping it, pulling it, until pain springs forth in my mind, and I perch on the edge of my mattress, fumbling, with hands withdrawn from locks of cluttered gold, to reach inside a draw and withdraw a single bottle. For months now I've been tossing this down my throat; over and over it's burned, its scolded and its saved me, but for a moment, I lose control of myself as my hands... MY HANDS... clench its exterior and suddenly the glass container is whirling through the air, and as it comes in contact with the wall it smashes and it's ghastly interior of black shining purple punctures the wall and dribbles to the floor.  
  
The dribbling stuff breaks through my shell and I close my fingers around another familiar container and before I can mutter a word such as accio, I have removed the lid and tossed back its contents. It tingles my throat on its way down, slipping and sliding against my insides, and as it appears to reach my stomach, a feeling spreads throughout me, and I fall backwards onto a pile of doonas and pillows, covering my face with my hands and clenching my eyes shut. The skin of my hands and forearms seems to shift, moving from side to side, up and down and round and round, and finally, when the feeling stops and I glance again at my hands, they are normal again. They hover above my face, and they are no longer surreal, like a painting by Picasso or Van Gogh, or shuddering like a cloud about to burst forth its showers of glistening droplets, and I exhale, realising, like I have every other time, that I've been holding my breath.   
  
I'll have to go and see Snape or Pomfrey about an extra bottle, because each bottle is specifically crafted to the needs of the potion, and I have just smashed the third in a month. Slowly, I get to my feet and after glancing at my watch- 6am- and then to the mirror, I strip down, mutter a cleansing spell and begin to dress for the new day. I pull on one of three grey, pleated skirts, a plain white blouse and straighten a tie, which slips over my head and settles beneath my collar, before looking back to the mirror. In the light, which shutters through ajar windows, my hair alternates between a boring, mousy-brown and a crisp, golden blond and then back again, and as I pull up socks, covering slim ankles to bony knees and shoe my feet with buckled Mary-Janes, I collect my thoughts, and after a minute, stuff away black leather gloves in my pocket's depths.   
  
Homework, lying unrestricted across a small mosaic'd table is gathered in my arms, and as I glance again at my watch, I notice that there is still enough time to research and take a few notes on items to bring to Dumbledore's attention tonight. I stuff the folders of parchment and the packet of quills away in the recesses of a cotton shoulder bag and slip it over my shoulders before heading out the door and locking it. Holding the handle in my hand, I realise I have forgotten something, and slipping back into my room, I reach in, withdraw two bottles and once again, leave the room. In the common room between the blond haired boy of my nightmares and dreams and my rooms, I catch a glimpse of his tied locks behind a closing door, and on the air I can lightly smell the scent of cigarettes and shaking my head, I step into the hallway.   
  
Harry and Ron and Ginny are probably still asleep in their beds, their dreams a mixture of dark tormented pasts, and sweet dreams filled with pleasantries of their significant others, and for a moment I feel a loneliness overwhelming me. Where is the person that is meant to save my heart and break it at the same time? Where is that one person who I can bear all my burden to and not get cut to pieces for my folly? And in the deep depths of my mind, a voice of considerable proportions rings out: Perhaps it was he who you wish not to think of, he who creates a fire in your cheek like no other did.   
  
I pause in my steps stopping in a dark hollow of the hallway and feel a flush leaking into my cheeks as memories of the night before flood my mind.   
  
*~*  
  
He stands before me; not far away and his eyes, closed to my levelling glare, flutter as he inhales deeply and suddenly he leans forward and brushes his lips against mine. Despite myself, I respond to the light pressure that he applies, and the heat, which is always there now, when he stands close, looms to the surface and as he draws away, I am amazed at how sweet, how gentle the kiss appears. Like a delicious dish of precise meals, I feel drawn to him, and realise that no one, has ever presented me with such a kiss as this. Closed and delicate, the kiss is like fine cuisine, seemingly to be tasted only once.   
  
*~*  
  
And suddenly tears spring into my eyes, as I clench them shut to the memory, that it was he, he who has tormented me, who has insulted and ridiculed me, whose father stops at nothing; who has shown me such beauty in a single meeting, who has presented an entire world to me. A world, which I crave, with a vicious hunger to possess, if only he was not contained in it, if only it didn't come pre-wrapped and tied with the compliments of the Malfoy family and a bonus blond-haired god. His tongue speaks words of doubt and of being deceived, by me and mine but it is he who deceives and tricks, it is his voice, his touch, which plays with the memories of my past.  
  
Peeling myself from the wall, I wipe a hand across my cheeks, catching the tears on hidden hands and shift back into the light.   
  
"Hermione!" A voice slips into my thoughts and I look up to see a small, petite beauty with a stream of red hair, which flows behind her. Ginny almost bowls me over with enthusiasm and after hugging I find a smile on my face. "Oh Mione, what are you doing up this early?" She asks, finally catching her breath, and as she steps away, she clasps her hands behind her back and grins. The grin however, falters as she takes in the room that I stand before. "Dear God, woman, is there any other place where we can find you but the library!" She groans and I have to laugh. Ginny's antics and hysterics are a famous gene from the Weasley Pool, but hers have an ounce of her very own slightly peculiar personality.  
  
"I have to meet Dumbledore tonight for a meeting and I haven't prepared anything." I explain, and she rolls her eyes, before looking serious.  
  
"You could have asked us for help last night. You know any of us would be only too happy to help you. We've always explained this, Hermione." She tells me sternly and before I can stop myself, I speak words, which immediately seek the feelings of regret and remorse.  
  
"Last night... last night was a complete waste of time." I mutter, and the change is almost instant. Her eyes widen in a second and they appear almost white, the blue so crystal that it seems to disappear. Her hand plays on the edge of her shirt, slipping her finger in and out of a loose button hole, and she bites down on her lip for a moment, as if trying to gain some of the little control that Ginny Weasley has left.   
  
"I... I..." She stutters and I, as I knew I would, feel instantly sad, "We worried about you after you left; Harry most of all. What happened to you, Mione? We just want to help; we want to know what's wrong, that's all. We wouldn't hold it against you, you know we would never do that." She pleaded, and I turned my eyes just past her face so that I was looking at a space on the wall behind her, "Don't be angry with us, Mione. Don't punish us for not knowing how to speak to you, for not knowing what to say!" Her voice is calm for a moment, but at the end of the statement, the tone of it rises with strain. "And how could you think Harry would know? Of course Harry didn't know! Of course he didn't notice! How could you expect him to notice something which even Ron and I had trouble noticing? Every night, Ron tells me, Harry wakes shaking and trembling; his sheets soaked through with the sweat which streams off his cheeks and face. And then, the very next night, when they return, the elves have been about and the sheets are clean and whitened. Every night, Hermione!" Ginny is almost hysterical as she explains to me the things which I already knew, the things which were always known, just hidden.  
  
"It's... it's not that... it's just, how can I ask Harry to look out for me, and show concern for me, when he needs that for himself. When every ounce of the dedication that he shows to his friends should be directed entirely at himself." My voice breaks with distinct clarity and I bite my lips and look to the side in a desperate attempt to stop any tears that might fall.  
  
"Ask?" Her tone is hysterical, "Hermione, you don't need to ask. You don't even have to want Harry to look out for you. He'll do that on his own, I'll do it, Ron will. They wouldn't be alive if they didn't have you, if they didn't have your friendship, so don't wish for them not to see you, not to want to help you, because it's impossible." The words flew from her mouth, and she paused and breathed for a moment, her eyes thoughtful, so that when she began again, her voice was softer and more delicate. "Everyday you and Harry are off in another world, a world where we can't seem to get you, and even when you think no ones watching, we always are, we always see the expressions that you make, the way your voices rise in the aftermath, and we notice the tremble in your bodies when we touch you. Who else but Ron and I are going to notice the drinks that you toss back, when everyone else is distracted by the air of well-being but the look of absolute illness. Ron may sometimes seem completely oblivious to the obvious, but he notices his friends, he notices when the girl and boy who hold his heart in an iron grip are hurting. How could you think so little of him? And who but I is going to recognise the bottles that fit the potion? It would be an insult if I didn't." She whispers and my eyes widen considerably at her words, realising just how advanced in potions her mind really is.   
  
How could they have noticed something, which I conceal from even myself? Why do they see what others can't even wrap their minds around? "Yes... I guess you're right." My voice sounds sullen and sad in my ears, and Ginny steps forward and wraps her hands around mine. Even with the potion concealing the changes made to my hands, sometimes, when I lie awake at night, I can feel the shaking beneath the veil of potion-brewed deception, but the minute Ginny's hands enclose mine, it's gone.  
  
"I'm going to wake Harry," She whispers and there is a glint of something mischievous in her eyes. The depth of sadness is again hidden so well behind the image of a beautiful, happy, innocent child, and when I look again, she has turned and is running down the hallway, ducking beneath people's arms, in search of a boy.  
  
After gaining my composure again, I continue my walk into the library, and head towards a desk in towards the back. "Hermione!" Seamus' voice erupts in my head, and a smile, at the mere sound of his voice is beginning on my face, and I turn to face the speaker. "Hi," he says, as he comes to a stop before me, and mouths a sorry at the Madame Prince, who shoots him a glare for raising his voice, "you wouldn't happen to know where I could find some research notes for that potions parchment, that Snape wants done?" He asks, and I immediately lead him to the exact spot where all the answers can be found. Here, as the academic, I am in my element.   
  
Several minutes pass as I demonstrate to Seamus what needs to be done, and at the end, when I move to continue the work that I had intended to do, his hand reaches out and clasps my wrist. "Mione?" I slowly turn to look at his face, and my eyes widen as I take in the look of worry that it demonstrates. "Everything okay with you? You seem a bit distracted." His hold gently loosens, and he examines my wrist, "Where did you get these bruises?"  
  
I look where his thumb moves gently across the skin of my wrist, where a faint bruise is gradually growing and for a minute my eyes become shadowed with a preceding memory.  
  
*~*  
  
"Where did you get such scars? Why are your hands such?" Draco's startled voice demands from me and his hold on my wrist tightens then loosens, then tightens again, and I flinch in pain as he examines my wrists and the abnormally coloured veins which present themselves as scars.  
  
*~*  
  
"I'm not quite sure, actually, they seem... seem... I probably just hit the corner of something sharp." I explain, and gently ease my wrist from his grip and take a step away, plastering a smile on my face. "Don't worry about me, Seamus, please don't. There's no need, honestly. It's pointless, and you know me, I'm always fine." Hesitantly I begin to walk away, but his final comment stops me in my tracks.  
  
"There isn't someone, is there Hermione, who's bugging you." His Irish trawl, accents each word with clarity, and I flinch. "I've seen Malfoy watching you, following you, and lately you seem more aware of it, more acknowledging of him. You'd tell me, me at least, if anything was wrong with him, wouldn't you?" And I flinch, and shake my head, before looking over my shoulder.   
  
"Oh Seamus, don't worry about me, honestly. Malfoy's not doing anything; I don't know what you're talking about. You know him; he's always such an arse- once a Slytherin always a Slytherin. And he's Head Boy, I've got to pay some attention to him, otherwise we'd never get anything done." The words tumble from my lips like a well practised speech, and I can see several different looks pass across face, but none of them rise to the surface, and I quickly take my leave.   
  
Sitting down, I pull several pieces of parchment and a sharpened quill from my bag, and begin scratching a list of notes and specifics down on the page. Slowly the page grows, but as I glance back at what I have written, the words tailored to the page seem to make not an ounce of sense and I find my thoughts drawn to Seamus, a teenage boy, whose relationship with I is all and nothing like plutonic.  
  
Seamus Finnegan, Irish man and friend extraordinaire, contains all the humour and joy of my world within his medium height, dark-haired, pale skinned and blue-eyed form. Since the beginning of the sixth year, his friendship with me has grown ever so large. He knows little of my experiences, or at least, knows little of the details of my preceding years, but there is a magic in Seamus, a magic not defined in this school, which lets him see things which open eyes refuse to acknowledge. His character, quirky in more ways than none, and flirtatious to a fault was always there to cheer his friends on, and to engulf them in his persistent character. A memory of a dream engulfs me, as I sit in the dimly lit chair, and I close my eyes, and embrace the moment.  
  
*~*  
  
In a darkened room, something crystal begins to glow, and as I walked deeper into the room, the glow grows from a faint sprinkle to a bright shine, and from every crevice and space in the room, a distant ticking and tocking, a heavy clicking and clacking descends. I am in THAT room. Again. On every surface of the floor and desk and shelf lie faces of twelve points, whose hand's every movement echo a single sound, which together as a chorus, resound, over and over in my ears. And then, as I step between the desks, moving towards the bell-shaped jar which lies central to the room, a purple flash lights up the room, and suddenly legs which were moving and arms which were steadying no longer move, and I slump to the ground. In my eyes, a world re-creates itself, and I watch as the figures of Harry and Neville lift me to the air and I try to move myself, blink my eyes, show some sign of my awareness- but nothing. It feels almost like the 'Petrificus Totalus', where one finds themselves entirely bound, from head to foot, but for some reason, the sensation is completely different, the feeling which is presently washing over my form is like a decisive cold shower and I try desperately to shudder.  
  
Harry's and Neville's faces appear above mine, watching my reaction, and I feel Harry's tight grip upon my shoulder, become gentle for a moment and then tighten harder. Internally I wince, and I wait for Harry's exclamation that I am truly awake, but all I see is a curtain of concern across his glassy, green eyes and I softly hear his mutterings: "Please don't let her die! Please don't let her die!" I try desperately to move again, to shudder, scream, reach up and cower, but nothing and suddenly I feel overwhelmed, and I want to move, I want to get away. Neville lifts me from the floor to his arms, and as he stealthy follows Harry from one room to another, I can see his face where blood flows freely from a split lip and from each of his nostrils. He stumbles for a moment, and the blood, which is pooling at the base of his chin splatters onto my face, obscuring my vision for a short moment.  
  
They stumble from room to room, and I watch silently and without movement as Neville flinches with each impact to different parts of his body. Ron and Ginny and Luna gradually find us and from my viewpoint, I vaguely notice the glossy gleam of sweat which sticks to Ginny's forehead as she slumps to the floor over her leg, and the pitiful look of distress as Luna speaks hushed to Harry, and finally Ron, whose face is falsely happy as a series of giggles and a set of laughter rings out from his lips.  
  
Words of urgency erupt from Harry as a series of bangs and explosions echo from just beyond the doors just past, and suddenly we are racing towards another door, and we find ourselves, within a darkened room. From the ceiling hang several suspended lamps which cast an obnoxious light across the room, and my eyes widen in fright at what lies central to the room. A large green tank sits there, obviously familiar and I want to get up and back away, but before I can struggle to rid myself of the curse which lies across my frame, a series of curses, hexes and spells fly into the room.  
  
A spell smacks Neville directly in the face, flinging him to the ground, and I slip to the floor, the ground, pain erupting from my rump. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Ron struggling to rid himself of the 'brain' which has attached several of its arm-type shapes to him, and all of a sudden a flash of green erupts and he crumples to the ground.   
  
This is not how the memory is meant to go anymore.  
  
"Ron!" The voice erupts from my mouth like a newborn's cry and I cradle my head in my hands, shuddering desperately as cries rack my frail form. I am inside the Hospital wing, a nightmare having awoken me from a potion-induced sleep, and I swing my legs over the edge of my bed and upon looking up, find myself not alone. "Seamus!" I manage at the last moment to calm the tone of my voice, and it comes out like a hiss, as I stare clumsily at the dark-haired boy before me, whose arms are full of papers.  
  
"Sorry," he mumbles and quickly thrusts a pile of parchments in my lap. I gingerly rub my eyes, and try to focus on him standing not too far away, "McGonagall didn't want you getting too behind in your studies and thought that it was best that you get your homework sooner rather than later." He muttered, and I watched him for a moment.  
  
"But why..." I began, but he quickly cut me off, "Why did she send me and not Harry or Ron. I'm pretty good with my work, usually have it done in time and pretty much 'lright, if I can say so m'self. They're good blokes, Harry and Ron, but McGonagall doesn't want them too far behind with there work, and they probably wouldn't get back to classes if they came and saw you." I smiled hesitantly, and remembered how cross Madame Pomfrey had been when Harry and Ron had stayed most of the second night. I was here to get some rest, to recuperate, she had sternly told the two guilty looking boys, not to chatter away.  
  
When I had returned to Hogwarts, the sixth year just beginning, I found sleep the hardest thing to return to. No longer were my dreams pleasant or full of hope, but dark and sinister, and eventually, following my collapse in the hallways from sheer tiredness, I was forced into the wing. Downing a dreamless sleep twice a day, for a week, I spent most of my time in a desperate doze. "Hermione? You alright?" Seamus' voice broke through my thoughts, and I glanced at him, and grinned, "Yes, you were definitely a much better choice, though what will Padma think when she hears of your visits." I joked with him, hoping I wasn't too dull for this to go overlooked, but he quickly laughed and rubbed the back of his head.  
  
Embarrassed, he spoke, "Ah, Padma, my sweet dove, the light of my life and glove for my hand. Alas, sweet Hermione, we are now apart. I fear my animal magnitude was too much for her." For a moment, in his company, my thoughts drifted away from the shadow, which crossed Harry's face as his Godfather disappeared behind a thin black veil, where voices of bodiless persons lay, and look of horror which strangled Ron's cry as a strange creature engulfed his form, suffocating him, and I openly laugh, feeling the unfamiliar sound ring through me. The look on Seamus' face is shocked for a moment, but he soon joins in, and slowly, through spluttering laughs, asks, "Why you in here, anyway, Mione?" the name rolls off his tongue, casually, and I'm glad to hear it, finding in such a very short moment of time, that I am bonding with this funny boy.  
  
"Can't sleep." He cocks an eyebrow at my answer, and smirks for a moment, and I notice that his smirk is not cold and sneering but warm and affectionate. "Can't sleep, eh? Hermione, are you still having those dreams about me; I told you that I can't be with you." His response is so random, so funny, so endearing, and as the week comes to a close and I leave the hospital and make my way to the Great Hall, just in time for dinner, along with the greetings made by Ron and Harry and Ginny, and the screams of excitement made by Lavender, is Seamus' own smile and wave.  
  
*~*  
  
"Granger, what a pleasant surprise." I open my eyes and find myself already blushing as Draco Malfoy makes himself comfortable in the chair opposite me. "Irish men, I would never have picked them as your type, but I shouldn't complain at where you make your bed. One must, where one can." He continued, and I found my cheeks reddening, not in a blush but in a flush of anger.  
  
"Where I make my bed? Where I make my bed!" I hiss at him, shooting him a glare and knocking back my chair as I get to my feet. "Well if I'm making my bed with him, then so must you be, because it seems two days now that I can't rid myself of you." I am inches from his face, the breath, which eases from my lips caressing his face in a gentle touch and I have to wrench my face away as his lips part and he exhales deeply, his eyes widening ever so slightly.  
  
I stumble away from the cluttered mess of my chair upon the ground and into a cavity of books, which are shelved in rows of spines and bound pages. Leaning my face against the books, I cradle it and will away the flush, which spreads, desperately across my cheeks. I hate him even more for his rash comments about my relationship with Seamus, which always seems so open to attacks because of the chivalry of his character and the aloofness that I portray around him, but even more so do I hate how I recognised the anger, the hate, even the jealously which lay somewhere deep in those pools of crystal water. It shouldn't be there, and I should not feel so ashamed for being around Seamus and having Malfoy see it so. I should not.  
  
A torrent of emotions stream through my system and I swing around and march back to my seat, slamming my book down on the table before Draco and I. "Here's a little hint, Mr Malfoy, and you'd do well to heed it. Don't accuse my friends, don't scandalise them or paint little scenarios for your enjoyment, otherwise you'll find that handsome face of yours corrupted by the spine of a book, which I'll shove so finely and delicately up you nostrils that there won't be a nose left to look at." I stammer out, and he looks at me, his eyes scanning my face, his cheeks seeming to redden at my account of torture.  
  
"Handsome? Really, I never would have thought you would see it that way, but I guess, not even the infamous mudblood of Hogwarts can keep her skirt pulled down all the time." A growl escape me at his implications and I slide into another chair, and bite my lip, feeling embarrassed and tormented. "I wonder Granger, every night lately, why you seem to intrigue me more than ever before. Everything about you seems awesomely perfect, everything prim and proper but there is something I would never have guessed that is so deadly wrong." I turn for a moment, my eyes widening at his statement, and he doesn't sneer, he doesn't smirk, his eyes merely meet mine and there is a clash of something. "Your hands, Granger. What is wrong with your hands?" I manage to contain any gasp that I might have emitted and slowly drag my hands away from the centre of the table, but before I can, he has taken them and is gently looking at them. "They seem fine now, as real and as normal as you and me, but there is something hidden here, something not seen. What was it that I saw last night, Granger, that made you so angry like a fairy lit witt the fire of vengeance? Your scream pierced the walls and everything around you, and your hands glowed so bright like some goddess' magic."  
  
Trying to contain myself as a blush rises on my cheeks, I gently take my hands back, and widen my eyes in what I hope is an honest expression. "My hands, Malfoy? Why I never thought you cared! As you can see, there is nothing wrong with them, and now, if you would be so well to oblige, if I must spend this time in your company, I would prefer to be doing something important, like Dumbledore's request." I immediately pull out a pile of papers, and spread them out between us, the parchments creating a barrier between the two of us, which is much needed, and I look him squarely in the eye. "I thought that a ball would be especially good for this year, but perhaps... with a twist." I will show this Mr Malfoy what it means to play with people's minds. I will show him how much I can change at the drop of the hat, and how probing too deep is the most dreadful of sins. "Perhaps, a game for the students, a hunt, if the professors agree." He looks at me, a gleam in his eye, and I recognise that he too is in his element.  
  
"A ball you say, perhaps a masked ball, and partners." He smirks at me, and for a moment I pause, the scratching of my quill stopping mid-sentence at the top of the parchment, and I meet his eyes and shiver. Those eyes of his, which gleamed with a Dragon's lure from the previous night, are alight with the fire, and I hope that I am deadly enough to play with such a fire. Because it seems that magical minds are at play tonight, and everyone knows that Dragon's are terrible competitors.  
  
"Hermione!" Ron's voice breaks through my thoughts, and he jogs towards my table, his legs taking long elegant strides as his robes billow out around him. For a moment I wonder if my friend has been taking lessons from a certain potions master. "Ginny said that we could find you here, but I could have guessed that for myself." He's at my side in a moment and he finally notices my companion and acknowledges him with a snarl and the furious tilt of his eyebrows. "You alright, Mione? Nothing bothering you?" He asked, implying, with a casual lilt of his head in the direction of the blond boy.  
  
"No Ron, everything's fine. I've just got to get these papers together and folded, and then I'll be with you in a moment." I say to him, my face blooming with a smile, as Ron grins and nods and heads toward the open doors. "I'll see you later this evening, Malfoy, at Dumbledore's request." I take a step past his chair, but pause, feeling his hand tighten around my wrist and pull me gently back until I tumble into his lap. I place my hands on the front of his chest, bracing myself, and take a deep breath, as he invades my personal space.  
  
"Don't think, Granger, that we're done here. I will find out what you're hiding, and you will no longer intrigue me. Don't think for a moment that a Malfoy will back down because some mudblood says he has to." He leans forward and his lips press down against mine, and his hands, which were rested against my hips move to my shoulder blades and hold me closer to him. Heat expands from the connection between us and I feel my cheeks flare to life, as his tongue surges between my lips and sweeps mine with it in a devilish dance.   
  
His lips move to my cheek, where he presses a gentle kiss, and I swallow deeply, and clench the front of his robes in tight balls beneath my fingers, as he kisses me again. Forgetting myself and who I am with, I sigh and return the kiss, one hand moving to the back of his neck, which I cradle, the other holding his cheek. His tongue in my mouth is like a steaming demon and my mind flutters and screams in a chance to escape the fire, which is burning inside. Using the hand, which cradles his skull, I pull him closer, and squashing my breasts against the front of his chest, I pull at his lower lip and suck for a moment, on the ripeness of it like a fresh peach.   
  
Slowly, his kisses ease into a slow passion, and as he draws away and gently massages the side of my neck with supple lips, he whispers: "What is it, Hermione, that makes you cower at the sound of my voice, when night falls across the castle? What is this charm that you've placed so carefully across yourself so that no one sees the real you, but those who stumble aimlessly across it? Don't think for a moment, that I won't find out why?" And like a cold shower, his words descend upon me, and I push myself away from him and stumble to the library entrance where Ron stands unknowing. All around me his voice echoes in my ears, and my cheeks and lips burn with exuberance as I realise that it is he, this golden haired boy who I've hated with a seething passion for years gone by, who's gradually breaking down my walls.  
  
~*~  
  
Well that ladies and gentlemen is the end of chapter 7, and since this has taken so long to post, and I'm sure you have all forgotten what you wrote, I will just send out to every single one of my readers and reviewers a heartfelt thankyou for your comments, your opinions and your words of encouragement. I hope you all enjoy Chapter 7 as much as the rest, and that it's not too strange, or different, and fits in well. Chapter 8 is on the way. Never fear, and I will always write on this until the end, it just may take a little while.  
  
Thank you so much, again and again. Hugs for you all, and well deserved thanks!!  
  
Cheers,  
  
~Cai~ 


	8. Mirrors of Faces

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P  
  
Author's Notes: Well chapter 8 is now posted and I can't think of anything interesting say, so enjoy. Thanks for all the reviews, Cai ^_^  
  
*~*- flashback beginning and end  
  
Chapter 8  
  
The day flows past like an incessant wind which knocks about those who are everything but wary, but as I sit by the window of the transfiguration classroom, I find myself watching the girl who sits two rows and three seats to the front of me. Her golden curls hang loosely around her neck, and as I watch her even closer, watching as the late afternoon sun sheds a customary glow around her head, like a halo, I grimace. She is like some demon sent to walk me to the gates of Purgatory, but as she shoves me through the wrought iron columns, she laughs and cackles, and I see her for what she truly is: a trickster, a fairy, sent to drive me insane with inane thoughts of her and hers.  
  
The professor asks another of her questions and the subject of my thoughts raises her hand like a bolt of lightening and immediately presents the answer on a silver platter with a garnish. Another ten points are rewarded to her house and I watch as the two knights, which sit on either side of her, whisper jokes and congratulations to her, causing her to laugh and faintly blush. She knows how intelligent she is, but there is still a naivety and a depth of innocence to her mind, which puts her in a state of humbleness. Shaking her head and pinching Potter's arm, she laughs, and her face glows and her eyes glisten with humour.   
  
"There's something undeniably fascinating about the behaviour of Gryffindors. Just like there namesake, they seem intimately pack animals, preferably happy with their own and amongst those individuals, rather than with another." Blaise's voice hisses in my ear, and I regard him for a moment, watching his emotionless face and searching glassy eyes for what exactly he means. "She's immeasurably sinister, isn't she? Intelligent; beautiful, in a sense; and absolutely oblivious to it all. She doesn't realise that although Potter plays ring leader, it is she who holds much of it together." Watching him closely, I see his eyes are no longer pointed on mine, but are rather looking where I was not moments before, and I indescribably feel noxious towards this boy of so many faces. "Don't worry, Draco," my name slithers from his mouth like velvet and I force myself to look at him, "she's but a fine cuisine which I'd only have to taste once to be bored of." His words seem to anger me, astound me and cut me, all at the same time, and I look back to the frame of her scalp, covered in soft, still slightly bushed curls.  
  
How can he make such a task sound so simple? Something appears to pull me towards her in anger but also something more direct, something more sinister and niggling at the back of my mind, which giggles and laughs when I try to walk away, so that in the end, I must turn back. She claws at my mind, clinging to every last thought that I have of her, so that at night, when she lies not thirty feet away, I wake, sweaty and hot, as my mind plays with a lustful imagination.  
  
The bell tolls three times and I snap from my reverie to watch her subtle hands heft heavy books into weak, calico bags. Potter's voice reaches my ear, and I want to snarl at his familiarity, with the demonic girl, "Mione! One day all those books are going to land on your feet and you'll realise why Ron and I are such lazy gits about school work. It's for our personal safety, you see." He kids, and as Weasley raises an eyebrow, she lightly punches Potter's arm and then laughs as her carrot-haired friend speaks, "You may be a lazy git, but I sure as hell wouldn't classify myself that way." I pass them, and unable to contain the smarting comment that lies on the very tip of my comment, I mutter, "So you say, but I doubt anyone in this room would agree." The reaction is spontaneous, like a bomb going off, and before I can take another step, the insulted teenager steps in front of me.   
  
Despite my height, this boy appears to tower over me, and I feel slightly intimidated, only slightly though. Granger, the prey of my thoughts stands off to the side, her face tinted a hint of red, as, for just a moment, we meet each other's eyes, and then her brows furrow in a glare, and she almost seems to pout. Potter is at his friends' sides, watching everything with those green eyes, which grow dark and shadowy when no one is watching. I turn my attention back to my copper-haired adversary and sneer, almost wanting to laugh. His eyes tell the story of an internal battle, and the tight set of his jaw, shows just how much strength it is taking this tall, lanky boy to control his anger. "Try saying that again, Malfoy, we'll see how fucking cocky you are when you're pinned to the floor by my foot, cause that's where you belong, isn't it." His voice seeps through his lips like the deadly hiss of a poisonous snake.  
  
"Why?" I ask coyly, knowing I am just provoking a reaction from this hot head, "You deaf or something; couldn't mummy and daddy afford hearing aids for wittle weasel?" Weasley steps forward, his tall form already invading my personal space, and his mouth opens as if to make some remark as his fist appears to ready itself for a strike, but before he can, a small hand pulls on the inside of his arm. I turn my head, looking at the small girl whose face is flushed red as she forces herself to look at me. For a moment a moment her eyes shift off mine and then, shaking her head, she meets mine firmly and glares, her brows creasing with annoyance, her mouth set in a thin line.   
  
"Let's go, Ron, let's not worry about him, not even look at him anymore. He doesn't deserve it." Her voice cuts me, her words of ignorance stinging me like sharpened knife and for a moment it seems like Weasley is going to resist Granger's efforts and punch me in the face and I tense, ready for whatever strike. But her voice speaks again, a touch of stern animosity beneath it, "Let's go, Ron, right now, he doesn't matter." Ronald growls, letting his anger erupt from him in an abrupt kick to a chair which lies beside my shin, and splinters of wood spray across my shoes, before he storms from the room, Potter following quickly behind him, speaking in low, harsh tones. Granger spares a glance at me as she slips her bag over her shoulder and frowns again, her teeth pulling on the top of her bottom lip causing my mind for a moment to fantasise pressing my lips squarely against hers, parting her lips with my tongue and tasting every flavour that it has to offer, but she speaks, "You're playing with fire, Malfoy, disastrous, hostile fire, and I think it's about time you stopped. One day someone's going to snap at one of your remarks and no one will be there to help you when the fire gets too hot." She whispers and then she is gone, her golden locks disappearing through the doorway.  
  
I lean lazily over my desk, packing away parchments and quills before slowly following her back to our adjoined rooms, but she is already gone when I arrive; the last of her presence being the steam which fogs over the windows and the scent of raspberries and tea-tree oil wafting on the air. It seems in the space when I have paused to speak with Christian Lestrange, Slytherin Keeper, about the upcoming Quidditch match, she has cleaned and left. In the bathroom where I wash my face her towel lies over the edge of the basin and as I reach blindly, closing my fingers around the furry substance and hold it to my face, I breathe. Her scent intoxicates my nostrils and seeps into my veins, notifying me of the red-hot blood, which runs through my veins.   
  
Sweat runs down my cheeks as I remember her lips pressed against mine, her tongue swirling in and out of my mouth, caressing my lips, and as I raise my head and glance in the mirror, my face, which isn't my face, stares back at me. My hair lies loose in its tie, strands of moon-gold framing my face, and I brush at hanging locks to reveal blue eyes and white cheeks, which are teased pink with a light blush- the result of both anger and lust.  
  
I pull my shirt over my head, turning my back on the mirror so I won't have to look at myself and tug off my pants, before stepping bare into the shower. With a swift tug of my hands the water blossoms from the taps like a rose that blooms in the morning sun, and closing my eyes I step into its fall. My hands reach up and break through knots until it lies smooth and wet against my scalp and hesitantly I reach out with a pink tongue and taste the water, which flows, down my cheeks. Stinging erupts from my back like needle pin-pricks to a delicately acupunctured back and I slip a hand round to a spot on my back and press finger tips against the newly formed scar of an inch deep tear. Pain blooms in an encompassing radius, which strikes severely at my head, and I grimace then grin. Everything comes at a price, that's what Lucius always told me.  
  
*~*  
  
"Come, stand by me, Draco." My father's voice enters my thoughts as I pick gingerly at perfectly presented food. I push back my chair and walk to stand at his side, mother glancing almost anxiously at me.   
  
"Good. There are moments in life, Draco, where one must always be prepared for things unexpected to happen. The dark lord, son, is still alive. In spirit perhaps, but alive none the less." His hand rests on the small of my back, his nails digging desperately into my side, and he pulls me closer so I can hear him whisper, "Zabini's son wishes to take the test, wishes to become one of us, but I hear no such wishes from my own son, no such wishes to be part of what his father has created."   
  
Suddenly I can't breath and I stare at the silver instrument that now protrudes grossly from my back, soaking pants and shirt with red blood, which seeps from the neatly made wound. "Everything comes at a cost, Draco." He whispers in my ear as he releases me and pushes me to the floor, my knees crumpling underneath as black splutters to life at the corners of my eyes. He grabs my hair and pulls back harshly causing me to cry out in pain, and white dots accent the darkness of unconsciousness. "Defying me, embarrassing me will cost you dearly, my precious son." And with a chaste kiss to my forehead he slips from the room and I fall to the ground. Voices swirl around my stumbling mind, and then... everything's black.  
  
*~*  
  
I move my hands over slightly older scars, which bruise my back in white, razor-edged lashes, and reach for a towel as I turn off the shower. I step from the shower onto misty tiles and rub a smudge in the fogged-up mirror. My face looks back at me: hazy and blank, and as the water condenses, it becomes strangely surreal like a reflection in water.  
  
"Oh my God!" A whisper echoes in the silent room and I turn to regard a small, golden haired girl, whose face is flushed red as she tries to look anywhere but at me. "I... I... CRAP! I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were in here!" I take a hesitant step towards her, a faint blush creeping up my neck and to my cheeks as I realise I'm standing in front of this child-like faery in nothing but a towel. The steam in the room makes everything lazily hazy, everything but her. The robe, meant to cover all female curves is pushed back and reveals a shirt, which is unbuttoned to reveal the beginnings of a fair-sized cleavage and I force myself to divert my eyes in an attempt to not fluster myself anymore. Her hair is pulled back off her head in a loose ponytail but tendrils of it seem to escape such a small contraption and hang around her face.   
  
In the mean while, her flushed face just accents her amber eyes, flecked with bits of emerald and gold, even more, as they widen in embarrassment.  
  
"I'm... I'm so sorry, I'll come back another time. I'll..." Her eyes dart to my sides and the portion of my back that she can see, and I immediately see fear and caution in take hold of her face as she recognises the scarring for what it is. She turns to leave but instinctively I reach out and take hold of her wrist, pulling her back and snugly against me. Her body immediately tenses and the embarrassment which lies in those fiery eyes turns to annoyance and anger as I tie up the wrist behind her back, making sure she is as close to me as I dare. And I do dare. She exhales heavily, her breath bursting from her chest as I duck my head and breath in her scent, that intoxicating mixture of raspberries and tea-tree oil.  
  
"What is this fire that's burning in me? Is this fire that you tell me not to play with, Mudblood?" I whisper, the words slipping from my lips before I can think, and she hisses as my wet hair brushes her cheeks and drips drops of water down her opened shirt. My eyes travel down the curve and delicious structure of her neck until I reach they reach the beginnings of her breasts and I watch as they heave up and down in reaction to the close proximity that she stands to me, pushing upwards against the confines of the cotton garment, looking ready to burst. I lick a droplet, which slips down her cheek, and she moans, and squirms suddenly noticing just how enticing I am finding her at the moment. The room only adds to the unreality of it all and for a moment, just one moment, I want to believe that this is a dream and that I'm not touching something so evidently delightful but so disastrously dirty.   
  
Her other hand lies gently on my shoulder and as I drag my face up to hers and pause hesitantly above her red lips, our noses just touching, its hold tightens and I sweep down and push myself against her. For a moment she appears to struggle, her lips tense and unmoving, but suddenly her hand reaches over my shoulder, pushing herself onto her toes as she presses herself just as firmly against me, and I suck in a deep breath and angle her backwards over the edge of the closest basin, pressing our fronts together. Her chest heaves against mine and I don't think I've ever found anything as enticing as the feeling of her breasts pressed precariously against my bare chest. My tongue grows passionate in its attempt to touch every inch of her inner cavity and my hold on her waist tightens till she whines into my mouth. I laugh, a throaty growl erupting from my depths and she shivers as I lick her lips and bruise them in anxious, wet kisses. My growing awareness of how close I am to her presses firmly between her legs and as she pushes her tongue through my lips and bears her teeth on my lower lip, my free hand releases her waist and moves to cradle a single cheek of her bottom. She moans deeply into my mouth, and as I feel wetness on my cheeks, I open my eyes for a moment and notice the tears that are falling from scrunched up eyes; the only retaliation that she shows towards this interaction.  
  
Her face, I admit for a single moment is beautiful, beautiful and mysterious, and as she tightens her hold on my shoulder and rubs herself against me, I pull myself away and look aghast at her. Her legs are still splayed slightly apart and despite withdrawing the obvious contact that was between us, our hands still remained joined, our fingers linked. I imagine that her face mirrors mine in every retrospect and she quickly drops my hand and takes toward the door.   
  
With longer arms I reach above her head and press down on the door as I step up behind her, my nose in her hair as I inhale her smell, her aroma. "Let go of the door, Malfoy. Please, just let go of it." I wonder for a moment if she is talking about the door, and breath out, watching goosebumps rise on the back of her neck.  
  
"You tell me not to play with fire, not to get my fingers burnt because no one will come running when the heat gets too hot, but I think you misunderstand. I've already played with the fire; you saw it for yourself, the scars, which sketch my back, the holes which have healed over in silver patches." She shivers and I realise that my acceptance of such violence frightens this girl. Let her be frightened! "I can't help but dabble; I can't help but jump head first into this pit of molten illusions. It seems that once I've had a taste of it, I can't seem to turn back." My spare hand brushes over the crest of her breast and the skin of her stomach, separated from my fingertips by a light blouse and she pauses in her act of trying to lever the door open.  
  
"Just open the door, Malfoy! Open the fucking door, right now! I... I... don't want to be part of this anymore, I don't... want to... Please, just open the door." She pleads and with a subtle kiss to the back of her neck, I release the door and step back, allowing her to flee. And as I watch her graceful back hunch over and her blushing face hide behind golden curls in embarrassment, I smile.  
  
In the great hall, I am dressed again and as I sit at the edge of my house's table, my head-boy badge glittering for all to see, I glance over at the Gryffindor table. She sits, the youngest Weasley and brother on either side of her, and as the last male Weasley leans over and whispers something in her ear, she throws back her head and laughs. The chink of Dumbledore's fork on his crystal glass catches everyone's attention and I turn away from my mind's thoughts and look at the old, crazed man.   
  
His power is much to be admired and desired, and one can only hope that they too might contain even an ounce of what he holds in those eyes, what he can throw with those hands, but they never will. The old man tries desperately to tame this year's Slytherins, encompass them in everything that is anything but Slytherin, and he may, if he's lucky, entrap particulars in his web of confidence and twinkling eyes, but most, those from families of leaders themselves will never see that light. Most will see but a silly old man who is caught up in the crazes of a eutopic land, a land where dreams not nightmares rule, and will shrug it away, because nightmares simply hide, they never, ever go away.  
  
"My young students, we meet again for yet another meal, and I hope to remind all prefects and heads of the meeting they are to attend immediately after students are dismissed. Now, eat and feel merry." His voice booms across the room and seeks to gather all in an excited and loving embrace, but there are those, I notice, who roll their eyes and ignore his speech. Zabini sits in the shadows his eyes shifty and looking for something in a place where nothing lies, whilst Pansy sits perfectly upright, her shoulder's squared and her brows straightened as she giggles dismissively at a random comment from one of her many male followers. She looks up and meets my eyes, her dark blue clashing with my crystal silver, and she sneers, a sneer that rivals those I save particularly for Potter and his gang of party tricks. Her male friend presses his lips against her cheek and like the school girl that her soul begs to be, she giggles and then as her eyes return to mine she winks and smirks, the sinister mind of a wronged child already at work again.  
  
I eat little, feeling sufficiently engrossed with seeing the bane of my existence for the last passing days, and being utterly glad about it. The tables eventually clear and as I get up from my seat, anxious to make my way to the meetings, I glance up and see the Head Girl, the female Weasley and the Irish goof- Finnegan, readying themselves to attend the meeting, Potter and Weasley already gone to play some random game. Finnegan leans over and places a hand gently on Granger's shoulder and I shudder as an undeniable anger swells within me and clench my hands in fists by my sides as she inclines her head backwards to see him and smiles a small smile. Angry with him and with her and especially with myself for feeling such dark emotions, I storm from the room, making everyone in the room notice how angry Draco Malfoy is at that present moment, and as I reach the exit, I watch Finnegan place a hand on Weasley's back and wrap his forearm around Granger's neck as he leads them from the room, heading towards where I am headed.  
  
The meeting room lies on the second floor and when I reach it I slip into my seat which lies at the head of the table, and wait for others to gather in the room. A young Ravenclaw girl enters the room, sneaking a look at me, her face red with embarrassment, because it is well known throughout the school just how good looking Draco Malfoy really is. But I sneer at her and want to laugh outloud at the fear that passes across her eyes. A chair beside mine scrapes aside and I turn and see the leader of all Mudbloods herself, sitting down.  
  
She meets my eyes and gulps for a moment, a faint pinkish tinge glowing on her cheeks, and then steadies herself and meets my smirk head on. "You know, Malfoy, one day the wind's going to change direction and your face will stay like that." She says, and turns her attention to rearranging the papers in front of her.  
  
"It couldn't turn out any worse then that ugly mug that you call a face, mudblood. I wonder how long it's going to take the great Irish lout to realise this, and come to his senses. Though, perhaps, being as he is, he gets where he can." She appears to be taking lessons from the youngest Weasley male and she staggers to her feet, slams her hands on the table shattering the silence, disregarding the papers and turns to me, her eyes portraying her readiness to throttle me.  
  
"You will watch wha..." Her voice ceases as another, more influential voice enters the disarray, "Good evening my wonderful School Leaders, I hope the Weeks since we last met have treated you well." Dumbledore's greets us, his voice like open arms ready to take hold of each and every one of us, and bring warmth to our hearts and eyes. If only it would work. "It has come to my attention that it is almost time for another annual event, and I have put it to our Heads of the Year to bring a list of their proposed ideas to our discussion. Now I ask them to proceed with these ideas."   
  
Granger stands casually, placing particular papers in front of her and as I follow her movements I pull a small sheet of paper from my pocket and unwrap it with agile fingers. When that is done I casually look at my partner and watch her fingers stumble and fumble with unfolding and preparation. She glances at me, noticing that my eyes are directed at her hands, and blushes before turning to her audience and speaking, "Well, I haven't had much time to prepare particular details, the more finer of this idea, but I have one distinct plan which I would like to run by you, and I have discussed this with Mr Malfoy, who also agrees to this idea." Her voice is soft but full and reaches everyone with a friendly lilt. "Like other years, I have proposed a ball for this year, with perhaps a twist of some sorts. Mr Malfoy thought a masked ball would bring some difference to the usual standard, and I thought that perhaps some form of hunt could be created and performed in pairs or small groups." She sorts through her papers and I take it upon myself to continue this discussion.  
  
"As Granger has already said, the ball would be masked and held in the grounds of Hogwarts, not in the hall. The purpose of the hunt is still to be determined and we'd have to take it up with you, sir," I look to Dumbledore directly, appearing the always-diligent student, "to make sure it's appropriate, but if there were perhaps tasks to be completed during the evening. Food and drink and dancing could be performed in the gardens, and I haven't talked this over with Granger, yet, but if it were held on the night of Beltane, which is in little under a month. It falls on a Saturday this year, Sir, and the celebration could begin at dusk and continue on until whenever." I catch the look that Granger shoots me, her eyes wide with astonishment and I hide the smirk that wants to burst forward as she glanced at the piece of paper, with every inch of white paper crammed with words.   
  
Our discussion that morning had been interesting enough and its end the best beginning to a day that I could have asked for, but I wasn't about to let her take all the credit for a job that was also mine. "I have to say that both of you have performed your jobs to perfection and presented us with a brilliant idea for our up and coming festivities. We will vote about this idea, and once approved continue with the more finer details. All for?" All hands raised slowly into the air and with a smile of triumph and quick sneak peak at Granger to see her face smiling the same way.  
  
"Perhaps one of the tasks could be, that people can not enter the room with their partners and must find them before the night it out. We can put a spell across the school, if it is possible, that prevents one from talking about their presence that night, and thus keeping their status a secret." Hermione begins the debate, and quickly several voices peak up and begin passing ideas past the others.  
  
Talk continues and we return to our seats, allowing the voices to wash over me for a moment or two. I stare at my hands, watching them and then move my eyes to Granger's lap where one of her hands lay gently, the other rests on the table's surface. Her robe is spread over the back of the chair and her pleated skirt is hitched several inches up her thigh, bearing half of her cream-coloured thigh to my widening eyes. Keeping one eye on the conversation and waiting for any indication that I am needed, I watch her carefully. Her face is calm and a small smile plays on her lips as she answers people's questions and puts forward her own ideas. I turn my attention back to the hand that rests on her lap, and suck in a deep breath as for a moment the veins shimmer from their normal colour to a silvery green, which seeps slowly into the thick lines. I blink quickly and when I look again the colour is gone, and her hands are normal.   
  
Her fingers curl against her skin and she grazes her nails against it, unknowingly hitching her skirt up another inch. Turning and keeping my eyes on the table, I let my hand travel under the wooden surface, pausing for a moment, allowing my hand to hover over her leg, as someone asks me question. I answer as easily as I can, and then, place my hand gently over hers. Out of the corner of my eye I watch her tense considerably and she shudders as my fingers draw small lines of shivers across her palms. For a moment our fingers are interlaced, but as quickly as it occurs her hand slips from my hold and joins its partner on the oak surface, leaving my hand resting on the edge of her skirt. Her cheeks are flushed, red staining both cheeks like a fire has been lit in her face and as I run my fingers over the hem of her skirt, drawing my nails across the skin which is so tender and soft below my fingers, I exhale softly and watch her close her eyes slowly then open them again. Finishing with the hem of her skirt I rest my hand on her bare thigh and fold my fingers around the curve of her leg. Her leg is tense and tight, and she slowly brings her hand back down and places it above mine, resting it just there.   
  
"Well Draco and Hermione," we both appear to startle at our names, but I don't move my hand, "I do believe this concludes our meeting for this night, and I think you should all congratulate our Head boy and girl on a job well done. They have chosen in your common interest and I believe they should set the example by opening the ball as the very first couple. We shall see how well this partnership is when they find each other in a sea of masks." Hermione's hand clenches above mine, her fingers seeming to forget mine are there and both our eyes trail to Dumbledore's face, where a twinkle lies in his eyes. "I do believe you two will make this a year to remember."  
  
~*~  
  
Well my wonderful readers, that is chapter 8, and I can't believe I've updated it so quickly. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and ready yourselves for chapter 9, which is definitely on its way. I have this section, which I've been planning to insert in the story for 3 chapters now, but this story has just about written itself and hasn't let me put it in yet, but next chapter, beware: a bit more interaction, some confrontation, and the ball gets some further planning- perhaps... hahah- it might not, if I decide to randomly change it.  
  
Thanks again to all my reviewers.  
  
Cheers,  
  
~Cai~ 


	9. Sins of Masked Faces

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P  
  
A/N: Here is chapter 9, hope you all enjoy it, I couldn't be bothered writing a long first authors note this time, but the one at the end is, nice and good. Thanks to all reviewers, now go read. Flash back scenes are within these symbols *~*. And there is a long one at the end :)  
  
Chapter 9  
  
The room has emptied and as I step into the hallway, my cheeks burning with desperation as I remember the feel of his fingers trailing the hem of my skirt, the feeling of his hand resting on my thigh, his fingers curled around its width. I glance at my hands, feeling a tingling sensation seeping through their veins and watching in awe as glistening silver seeps into the blue veins and slowly and surely takes its place. Scrambling within the confines of m y bag I grip the shape of the final bottle, which lies in a secret pocket, and withdraw it. My hands are shaking more than ever now, the signals of distress, which they relay, coming on quicker and quicker by the moment, and I tip back my head and down the bottle's contents in one gulp.  
  
The feeling grows in my head, a buzzing feeling in my hands that seeps its way from my hands, down my throat, through my arms, and I smother my face in my hands. I clench my eyes shut, a feeling of pins and needles spreading through my forearms and I clench down on my lip, desperate to contain the whimper which I want to release as the skin follows the routine and begins to shift and shudder across the surface.  
  
Slowly the feeling ebbs away, but it leaves in its place a gasping breath and a struggling return to sanity as I choke back a desperate sob, and turn half my face to meet the wall. The bottle still clenched in hidden fingers is pressed up against my face and I slip to the ground, squatting on the floor and hiding myself in the crease of my knees.  
  
"Nothing wrong? Nothing to hide!" An eerily familiar voice whispers and I suddenly find myself hurled to my feet and shoved desperately and threateningly against a wall, a face of pale skin, framed by god's white hair inches from my own. He looks at my hands, a sickening sneer on his face, and I know he has watched this whole event. Taken in every action that I portrayed. Seen the weakness I admitted as I slipped to the floor, face hidden in hidden hands. I shudder, the tremble slipping through me like water through a crevice and I try to turn my face away from his and cower in my hands. His face is like an explosion, so angry, so betrayed, and so seemingly upset.  
  
"Don't look away from me, Mudblood! There's nothing left to hide!" He reaches down and with his right hand he grasps my chin and pulls it forward so that we're a hairbreadths away, and with his left, he grabs the bottle and smashes it into the wall. "I always knew something was wrong with you, that something was different about you after last year. I knew that morning when I came to the hospital wing for a headache potion that something had happened. You stood there, white as a sheet, your hands clenched by your sides in fists so tight that blood splattered to the ground beneath them, but above it all rang Potter's cries. His screams sent shivers through me like someone had put me under the Cruciatus curse and his words painted the image of a scene of blood and murder." He raises his eyes to meet mine and in them I see a curiousity and fear. "And in the middle of it all your name was spoken; you were screamed for, whispered for, called for and cried for, and still you stood there. I couldn't take my eyes off you as your face grew paler and more ghostly and your eyes widened as you watched your friend withering and cowering within his bed-sheets, and through it all, more and more blood fell beneath you clenched fingers." As he speaks the memory of our time spent in the hospital resurfaces, and I clearly see the image before me, the pain that simmered in my hands from the self-inflicted wounds, and the screams.  
  
The screams.  
  
I tear my eyes away from his, desperate to look anywhere but in these glassy pools, which seem so much like a mirror reflecting what I'm feeling at the moment. "And then Pomfrey is there, and she's muttering charms and spells as she calms Potter, and then she looks at you. She hasn't seen me yet, her eyes are pivoted on you and on the bloody which drips from your hands and splatters on the white, marbled floor. And I wonder, does she wonder too whether this blood will ever come out, or will the floors be forever tainted with stains. It's not like normal blood, it a swirling mass of red, but within the red something glistens. Something silver, deadly and gross. I can't tear my eyes away from the puddle and as she hustles you back to your bed, your eyes already closing in an exhausted expression, and you're wrapped in a warm bed, you seem to look at me, and see me. But yet, you don't, and the curtains are closed."  
  
I sag against his hold, finally giving up on resistance, and I clench my fists by my sides, opening old wounds, trenches deep, and wait for the blood which warmly trickles down my hand, but it doesn't, only slivers of metallic cold trace my fingers as the blood drips. He holds my chin almost gently. I can feel his fingers almost caressing it and then suddenly I remember.  
  
~*~  
  
"Come child, back to bed, child..."And somehow she manages to edge me towards the bed, where she pushes me down and tucks the sheets deftly around me. The room darkens despite the time of morning, and I turn on my side, watching bandages magically wrap themselves around my hands, curling my legs till they're at my chest. My eyes are heavy and I can feel a spell washing over me, making my lids weighty and loaded, and then, as I turn my eyes away, a figure appears and his hair is golden and his face is blurry, but surely he is an angel. His clothes are stainlessly white and his eyes, which pierce my soul as I close my own, are the bluest of blues and I reach out. My hand reaches with my mind as it pleads: you sent me an angel to break me and set me free, but God, I'm not ready to go yet. I'm not ready to accept this all.  
  
*~*  
  
"And you reached out for me..." His words trail off, and I want to strangle him as I stare at him. I choke and shudder, realising whom my angel is and thrash out at him.  
  
"It was you! You were standing there watching and I thought... I thought... that maybe, just maybe, God hadn't turned his back on me, that he hadn't tainted my sleep and spoiled my self confidence as he did my hands, for no reason. That perhaps, he had finally remembered me and sent someone to rescue me. I didn't really want to go and leave them all, but I would. And then..." I stop beating down on his chest, gripping his shirt in my clenched fists and look up at him. Him who has grown so much that I truly have to look up at him now. "...when I woke up, I was still here and I thought: Really Hermione, did you think that you mattered so fucking much, that you'd be allowed some peace? Did you really think that an angel would wait for you and when you were ready lead you forward?! And in the end, it was you. It was you, the mongrel who took it upon himself to break my spirit. In end, it was you who I reached out for, who I wanted to hold my hand." I try to stagger away but his hold on my chin has moved to the back of my neck and he holds me in place, pulling me forward until I am seconds away from him.  
  
"I would have held on." He whispers and as my eyes widen and tears dribble down my cheeks, he kisses me. The kiss is soft and gentle, his lips touching mine only slightly, no force or pressure exerted, but the heat, which spreads across my cheeks is like wild fire and I gasp. The hand, which holds my neck, massages and plays across my skin and I can't help but moan and finally open the way for his tongue's entrance. At first it is subtle and tempting, and I finally growl, frustrated to no end by the means at which this boy goes about this job, and with my hold on his shirt, I yank him closer. The hand, which encircles my waist, tightens and I whimper in pain as he painfully pushes me between him and the wall, but the kiss, which he places on my lips before he leaves, is apologetic and simmering.  
  
The kiss, which then follows, is not.  
  
It presses against the skin of my neck, just to the left of my chin, and I find myself unable to do anything but relax and tense at the same time. Heat burns at the bottom of my abdomen as his lips quiver against my skin and massage the base of my neck. And as my head lolls to the side, opening my skin further to his attentions and lie my cheek against the cold stone in an attempt to cool my heated cheeks. I gasp as his hand which cupped the base of my scalp shifts to rest underneath my arm, his thumb brushing my breast until it comes to rest on its under side. He pauses, his lips stilling on the skin of my neck and I drag my hand up to rest on his cheek and glance down at him. His head rests in the junction of my neck, his breath fanning across the skin, which is exposed by my open shirt, but I can see his ears, the very tips of them. They're pink and blushing.  
  
"What are you doing to me, you beautifully dirty girl? I thought this would go away when I found out your secrets, this fire that erupts in me every time I'm in your presence, every moment that you stand before me. I wish for it to go away every night, but I couldn't imagine it, and my dreams plague my mind with subtle hints and scents, which wake me wanting more. You're like some drug, which I can't get off on, and oh god..." he trails off, the hand which rests beneath my breast moving upwards to cover it, and I gasp, and drag his face upwards. With tense fingers I look at the face of this angelic looking man who haunts my thoughts and his breath quivers on my cheeks and ignites a heat in my face, which punctures me somewhere in my depths, making me faint and hot. "...Hermione, I want to." And so I kiss him. For a moment as he speaks I can think of nothing to do and then, almost like my hands have a mind of their own, they pull his face towards mine and squash his lips against mine. His lips are like silk, tantalising, crushed silk which is still at first, but then suddenly it is like he has the energy of a thousand men and he has laced his other arm tightly around my waist and buries his lips in mine.  
  
My face feels like it is on fire and I press myself closer to him, feeling his arousal pressing against me and gasp as he pulls me higher and more tightly against him. His knee presses between my legs and a heat, which wasn't there erupts and spreads through me like wild fire. I wrap my arms tighter around his neck and turning my head, angle it so that my mouth is further open to his attention, and his tongue thrusts in between my lips and licks at my insides. It takes a moment for me to react, but his tongue's movements are encouraging and I quickly respond, our tongues moving in a similar dance to one, which parts of us thrive to do, but can't. I moan, as his hand which lies beneath my breast, moves to cover it again, squeezing and caressing it through my cotton garment, and gasp as he props me up against the wall and sinks his other hand beneath the layers of my blouse, seeking out my skin with his burning fingers. He grunts as I squirm against him and savagely brings his teeth to rake across my lower lip and I whimper, in a mixture of pleasure and pain, before rolling my head back and feeling his lips move against the skin of my neck. I can feel him grinning, his smirk searing against my skin but he pauses in his actions, a moan of annoyance escaping my lips, and looks up at me, his own lips red and swollen, his tongue darting out in such a way to moisten them that I'm already hot in lust for his kisses.  
  
"What happened to you, Granger? When did you grow up, realising you could tempt men and bring them to their knees?" I don't get a chance to answer, realising I haven't said a word since the beginning of this ordeal and I don't get one now. He aggressively brings his hands to my hips, rubbing himself temptingly against my centre and I quiver and feel nimble in my legs, grasping the tops of his shoulders to stay up. He yanks me up, so that I'm resting on his crotch, feeling him pressing desirably against me, and I can do nothing but wrap my legs around him and hang on as he staggers into the emptied classroom and props me on the edge of one of the tables. He moans as I move back and presses forward until I am lying back on the table.  
  
He pauses in his ministrations for a moment, and a voice in my mind suddenly rings forward in my mind. What are you doing? This is Malfoy! His are those who bring you pain and nightmares. But my thoughts are cut short as he positions himself in between my legs and leans over, pressing his lips gently against mine and licking their outside lightly. My hands run to the back of his head, grasping his hair, and I play with the skin behind his ear, and delight in the groan of pleasure which erupts gutturally from his throat as I rake my fingers along this strip of skin. He takes the opportunity to spur his tongue forward and the kiss erupts in me like the very first time that our lips met, my cheeks flaring brilliantly to life, and then I feel his hands. They begin at my knees, squeezing gently and then as one stays where it is, caressing and touching, the other moves upwards. As it moves, it leaves a hot stream of molten heat behind it, and I gasp as goosebumps break out over my skin and as his hand pushes under my skirt and reaches the rim of my underpants.  
  
His kiss gentles for a moment, turning endearing and I open my eyes, and find his too like that. His crystal blue eyes, like a dragon's, are hot and lusty, but the anger, which hides just in their corners, is like a cold shower and I shudder and release my hold on him.  
  
Bringing my hands to rest on his chest I push and he stumbles back, his shirt creased and untucked, his pants crushed and bulging, much to my embarrassment. He hisses and takes a step forward, but already an anger is erupting in me that is echoed in his, and I slip off the desk and rub my hands across my face, feeling bruised, swollen lips, become sensitive beneath my touch. From the corner of my eye, I watch him lash out, and suddenly I am in his arms again, and the places where we touch are hot and heavy, but not even his lips, which brush my cheeks and the space upon my temple, break my thoughts.  
  
*~*  
  
"You Mudblood whore! Did you honestly think that something as dirty and pitiful as you could ever destroy something as great and powerful as the Dark Lord? You're nothing but Potter's hoe. He uses you over and over, sullying you and breaking you, but you just keep running back for more. No one could honestly ever want you around, no one could honestly need you!" The hooded man, his long, silver blond hair trailing out in sneaking tendrils from beneath his cloak, sneers at me, and without his common mask, I can just make out the faint smirk which laces his lips and the crease of his brows as he frowns at me. "You've been nothing but a thorn in my side since you came about and I'll take great pleasure in watching you tortured. Oh, don't think that death would be your only solace. No, Mudblood, when we're through with you, you'll have wished you'd never heard the name of Harry Potter. You'll wish that you'd never chosen them over your books." He takes a relaxed step towards me, his hand, curving around the curve of my cheek, and I shudder, the chill of his fingertips dipping into my very soul and I swallow and raise my eyes to look at him. His expression is lucid, his eyes torrential with crazy, maddened emotions and I try to control the urge to cower. This man, the father of a boy my age at my school, is terrifying and the air of crazed emotions is thick and daunting where he stands. His thumb brushes across my lips, and I whimper as his nail presses into them and draws a drop of blood.  
  
Oh god, Harry! What are they going to do to me! Where are you? I can't help you! Please God, Ron, "HELP HIM!" The words erupt from my mouth and for a moment his eyes widen but then he cackles, the terrible, bone-chilling laughter rocks me backwards, and he stalks forward and takes hold of my hair and yanks me forward.  
  
"Still thinking of that idiot, Potter! If you're so desperate to see your hero, then I'll show him for what he truly is! A spineless fool, who is delirious with thoughts that he can defeat a great and powerful wizard." The world spins about us and suddenly I am stumbling forward and collapse to my knees as Malfoy pushes me forward, to the edge of the bloodied scene where Harry stands, and I groan.  
  
He stands not seven feet from a figure cloaked in ghastly black. At his feet I see a body, which, with every attack, he appears to protect with his own. A tuft of red hair can be seen and I recognise my copper-locked, gangly friend with his hot temper, lying bloodied and bruised on the floor, his wand lying broken to the side, his clothes shredded to his skin. His hands are cracked and blackened with burned skin and his hair is singed back to its hairline; his scalp bald in some places, and as I stare at him, I notice the scorched marks which lie about and upon his body, the telltale signs of the Cruciatus.  
  
Almost immediately I can imagine the scene. And as if following my imagination, time rewinds itself and paints the image before my glassy eyes.  
  
Deatheaters are everywhere, surrounding the two boys as the shorter of the two battles a deadly foe, and suddenly shoots of purple and gold fly from every which way, and Ronald Weasley can think of nothing but standing in their way. His past cries echo in my ears, as though the thick air of magic retains his screams and his eyes glaze over in pain as the bolts of pain and cruelty rain down, but not one gets to the scarred boy behind him, and as his hands, singed black from the heat crackling across his wooden wand, crush it in two, he slides to the floor. The warrior of muggle and wizard alike pauses in his battle, his body shuddering as the Dark Lord's spell strikes him square in the chest, but he can not draw his eyes away from his friend, and with a scream which rattles men's hearts and encases men's souls, he protects his wounded comrade. "INCINSERUS REPELLO!" Every body but the three who stand central to the battle are flung back, and it is only the Dark Wizard's inner strength that makes him fend off the Occlumency-based spell, which repels all that are tainted.  
  
The ground and bodies surrounding the three figures is scarred and tainted with the spell of repulsion, which Harry's anger spurred forward, and I grow uneasy watching the inner turmoil, which clouds Harry's face. "See, Mudblood! Your Saviour, your friend, is a fool, believing he can take on the world's greatest Warlord!" He spits out the word of endearment which I so often used to describe the two males slumped before me and before I utter a word in their defence, I am smacked across the cheek, and by the collar of my shirt, flung against the trunk of a singed and burnt tree. "You still hold you wand, Mudblood, but I don't think your mind is rested enough to control the power which surges through you." He takes another step towards me, appearing to ignore the battle which rages between two of the strongest minds, and entangles his fingers in my hair, dragging me forward until my face looks over his shoulder and his mouth speaks to my ear. "Watch Bitch, as your precious boy dies for nothing and the world dives into darkness. He will not save you today, nor tomorrow, and when this is all over, the Dark Lord will seek you out and you'll realise that your place was always at his feet." Lucius Malfoy pulls away, a sneer across his face, and I recognise with distress that even if this man were to die, there would be another, just as powerful, just as dreadful to take his place. A boy only a month and several days younger then me, who is joined to this demon of a man, contains in him this tainted, deadly blood.  
  
He grabs my chin pulling me forward, and shoving me before him he makes my eyes focus on the scene of the battling foes with painful clarity as his fingers and nails dig into my skin.  
  
Harry's body shudders as Voldemort's string of curses hits him, but suddenly his form tenses and he lets out an almighty yell, "FOEDUS CAEDO!" which strips Voldemort of his first layer of coverings, and slashes the dark lord from neck to stomach. But as silvery green blood splatters across the courtyard, a hiss of words springs from the Devil's lips and a groan and cry of pain erupts from Harry's lungs as the words, "Enascor Cognatio!" come alive and a wound much like that just inflicted flairs across his chest and flings red hot blood to the stoned floor.  
  
With a gasp he staggers, his eyes wide and clouded with pain and tears bloom in my eyes as he falls back and hits the ground with a thump. I struggle desperately against the hold of the blond foe, pining, agonising to be by their sides, to take them home, but before I can move, I am once again shoved into the massive trunk, my cheek making close acquaintances with its bark, and his face is moments from mine.  
  
His face is etched with fear and anger, pain and an oddly triumphant expression, which creases it in a surge of destructive emotions, and I try to move as far away from him, but this tall man is strong and deceptive. He takes another step forward and his body presses against mine, holding me firmly, and then, he speaks, "You stupid, Mudblood! This is no place for a dirty little girl!" Slowly but surely the figures that laced the ground, get to their feet, Harry's spell dimming and weathering as its caster slowly fades, his power slipping away from him, and they begin to crowd in around me, whispering and muttering curses with their little strength which bite and scratch at my skin.  
  
I tremble as the mass of human bodies surge against the dragon man and I, and in a moment of sheer terror as a glint of malice shows in Malfoy's eyes as his hand brushes against my thigh, I let go of a tremendous scream, which bears down on them, pausing them in their march. I reach for my wand as quickly as I can, and scream a string of hexes, curses and spells, anything that will cause the mass of bodies that bears down on me to back away and the words of the unforgivables, taught to us in our fourth year, pass my lips and I spare no look at the men who whither and scream in pain.  
  
"Expelliarmus!" I scream, and the bodies closest to me go flying, springing away, flinging the patriarch of the purest and most tainted of wizard family's back and into the silver green blood which seeps from the wound inflicted on his master.  
  
*~*  
  
"What are you doing, Malfoy! You're a deatheater's son!" I croak at him as I return to the present world, and suddenly his body, which was pressed so hotly and perfectly up against mine, is tense and stiff.  
  
"But I don't have a choice!" His voice suddenly breaks and his eyes are wide and almost frightened, "There are bonds, Granger which you and you're little, fucking friends can't see, but they're there, and they're cutting." He staggers further away from me, and I have to stop my hand from reaching out to him. Its already feeling the loss of the cheek which it was holding only moments before. "I want you here in my arms so bad that it hurts, hurts more than the fucking scars which lace my back." He rips off his shirt, fingers pulling on buttons and wrenching white cotton from his torso and I gasp at the site that he betrays to me. Across his chest and back are the marks of whips and blades, scars and smears of torn skin, which are silver and pink with new skin.  
  
"I want you, Mudblood, with your dirty blood and scars and fucking airs and graces, like I've never wanted anything before in my life and when you're not right here I beat myself for the feelings which I long for every moment that you're here, dishevelled, tainted and wanting. I want you more than I want to see the sun rise, I want you more than I want my father dead and six feet under, but really, I just want you. This, Hermione Fucking Granger is what a Deatheater's son has to offer, this is what a Deatheater's son is." I shudder, and wring my hands out, taking a hesitant step backwards, but stopping and looking at him as he speaks. His face is creased and heavy, no longer hot and flushed with lust, but pale and clammy. "Tell me that you know all about the abuse that they offer. Tell me that you know about the predestined lives that they map out for you the minute you're conceived and I'll take a curtsy and bring you flowers, but don't remind me of the fact that he's my father because he's already engraved that fact on my back. Did you think that by killing Voldemort, you and your little buddies, that that would make him any less?" He takes a step forward, grasping the tops of my arms with tight fingers. "Well, Hermione? DID YOU?" His voice echoes throughout the classroom like an almighty explosion and I shudder and push at his fingers, which hold my arms like tightened clamps. "I... I can't escape it, I... he's like a plague in my mind, fighting every boundary that I place up to stop him, smashing every wall that I hold to stop myself from becoming any more like him." He whispers and I stop trying to pry away his fingers and dart my eyes to this face, taking in the green expression, which tints his skin and the hollow look, which encompasses his eyes.  
  
"Have you ever seen a full grown man whip his son till he bleeds blood mixed with shards of bone from his very ribs? Have you ever looked down and discovered that you've been stabbed in the side by the very man who you thought was your father, your own flesh and blood?" I gag, looking to his side and seeing the freshly made silver scar, which punctures his side. "I won't be him, Hermione," he tells me, easing himself away from me and I slump back against the table top, and watch him pause. But suddenly, he returns, taking a step back towards me, and in a moment his hand has encased my cheek and he gently kisses the corner of my lips like a warm drop of rain. "These bonds hold me so strongly that I feel like I'm drowning beneath them, suffocating as he presses down on me, but I refuse to be like him..." And suddenly he is gone, nothing left to show he was here but the crash of my heartbeat and the white shirt, which he shed.  
  
I slip from the table, pulling myself together, as I button up my shirt and pull back up my socks and I absently wipe away the tears which slips down my cheeks. I am halfway out the door, when I remember the shirt and pulling it from the floor, I tuck it beneath my arm, and reassemble my bag's contents, which lie strewn in the hallway outside.  
  
My bag finally packed, I start to my feet, but the sound of ghastly sobs and shattering tears make my head snap back and I glance to a shadowed corner and see strings of red hair darting across a younger girl's face. I gasp and stagger forward until I am level, letting one word slip, "Ginny..."  
  
A/N: Sorry Guys. Well that was chapter 9, and now its done after about a month or so. The time that it took for this one to be posted is about the reasonable pace for the forthcoming chapters as I'm coming up to mid- semester exams and other stuff like that. I'm sure you've all forgotten what you wrote in your reviews so I'm just going to send out a huge THANK YOU to all the people who reviewed chapter 8 and enjoyed it. I hope you like Chapter 9 and that it suits all your tastes. As you will have read, you have no received a bit of back ground knowledge and other stuff. I made up all the spells, based on Latin words and hope you liked them. It was my first go, so give me a little leerway :)  
  
Anyway, thanks for reviewing,  
  
Cai ^_^  
  
Latin Words- SPELLS  
  
INCINSERUS REPELLO- ward off or drive away the tainted. The spell drives off all who Harry deems as tainted or bad. (I guess :P)  
  
FOEDUS CAEDO- to cut or slaughter your foe. Allowed Harry to physically hurt Voldemort.  
  
ENASCOR COGNATIO- relationship or connection by blood, spring forth. Basically it meant that the connection between Voldemort and Harry allowed Voldemort to inflict any wound that Harry directed at him, on him. 


	10. Secrets of Irony

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P

Ok, I'm trying to upload this chapter again, because people are complaining about the format, and believe me, I feel your pain. I think this is most frustrating for me, because I've tried to upload it about 6 times now and I'm starting to get the shits. I might end up changing site and posting it at an entirely different fanfiction if this doesn't work, cause I feel awful that you have to read it in such

This is slightly un-beta'd, as is being a BUM! I can't upload the italic bits, which are the flashbacks, and it won't let me upload the little symbols to indicate these parts. So, I hope this is still ok. Sorry for taking so long, Cai.

Chapter 10 

I reach her side and her eyes stare at me, wide and full of confusion, her breath hitched and laboured. "Ginny... how much did you see?" She doesn't answer, only shakes with contained grief and I reach out and grab her shoulders, shaking her, until her head lolls forward. "Ginny! How much did you see?" I scream, feeling guilt and shame crawling over my skin, as I realise what her voice cannot tell me. She saw it all.

Slowly she raises her head and looks at me, her blue eyes watery and clear, scared and questioning. "I saw... I saw... Oh god, Hermione, what are you doing to yourself?" Her words dig into me and as the guilt assails me again, I stagger away from the small girl until my back reaches the far wall, and shudder. Even when I've gone behind their backs and meddled with their enemy, the one they can't and won't call friend, they - she, still can think of only me. "Why do you continue to dig yourself deeper into this world of hatred and anger? Hasn't your life taught you that their world is NOT yours! That you have no place with these tainted men? DID LUCIUS MALFOY SHOW YOU NOTHING?" She cries, her face creaking and her lips groaning in pain, as she stumbles forwards and wrenches my hands from my face. "Look at me, Hermione. That boy who stood before you, who kissed you and breathed words of passion and hatred in your ear all at once, is not the one for you, no matter how much your heart longs for forgetfulness. He will not bring you peace of mind with such a soul." She sobs and the hand, which cups my cheek, wraps around my neck and she pulls me down and embraces me.

I sob, smothering my tears in her shoulder, and breathing in the familiar scent, which is Ginny Weasley, the girl that an only child calls sister. "God, Ginny... I..." I whisper, not sure what I want to say, but she shushes me, and contains her tears.

"Didn't you hear his words, Hermione? His father is still alive. Lucius Malfoy already holds his son's mind in his grasp, and with each waking moment they becomes more and more alike. He pleads for the belief that he has not fully lived like that man, but he does so only because when he looks at himself in the morning, he feels himself grow more and more like the man he loathes. He is not the one for you. The one for you, Mione, is someone who is open to love, is someone who can love, who will not sully your mind with more hurt. You do not need someone else's problems." She whispers to me, and I shudder in a mixture of anger and pain at her words, realising just how true they are. So true that it hurts and cuts at me. Digging into me as I realise that he is so wrong, so undeniably against the rules of this world. That despite the passion that flairs within me when he is near, that he is not for me.

The grief, which overwhelms me with these thoughts, is consuming and I shudder and my hold on her back grows tighter as I feel my head grow light and my eyes grow dim. "You see it, don't you, Mione. You see how wrong all this is, how disastrous he would be for you. He is everything in your nightmares, everything that shouldn't be. He is so scarred, that he should be an old man, but so tragically young." She whispers, and I tremble, wrenching myself from her grip and stumbling a few feet away. "Mione?" She sobs, and I see her reach out to me, but I brush her hand away and stumble.

_His lips on my skin, his breath on my cheek, his hands on my waist and head against mine, are like... are like... nothing... _

__

I stumble further up the corridor, my front to Ginny as I back away, and I reach out blindly as spots of black and white overcome my vision and I am falling.

I awake, a bright light piercing my bed's array of pillows through a crack in the curtains and slowly crawl from slumber. On my wall, a ticking resounds and I glance slowly at it.

Time for Lunch, My dear, the clock sings.

I swing around to the other side of my bed, and see the tail end of a white, button-up shirt; loose buttons hanging from its centre, and with them the threads of my memory come together.

_I am falling. I am thinking of how wonderful it feels to finally fail at something... to finally have... Malfoy holds me closer, his cheek against mine, his nose brushing gently against mine and I can feel the softness of his hair, as I run it through my fingers. His hair is like an angel's breath, soft and endearing, but his eyes are so angry, so terribly scarred with hatred._

__

I groan, and run a hand through my hair, biting back the nausea, which erupts in the pit of my stomach as my body, sends reminders for its dosage check up. I stumble to the draw beside my bed, but a hand takes hold of my elbow and lowers me onto the edge of my mattress.

"Sit, Miss Granger." I look up through foggy eyes and gasping breaths at the tall, lanky form of my most loathsome professor. His dark hair is tied back in a piece leather but several strands have escaped its confines, as he rummages away in the draw. As he pulls a small bottle from within and hands it to me, he speaks, taking a seat beside me on the mattress, "Why haven't you come for me sooner? Why haven't you requested more potion? You know as well as I do, that the potion contained in these bottles grows old with time." He runs a shaking hand through his thin, black locks and as I slowly drink from the bottle, I watch him from the corner of my eye.

Professor Snape's form is anything but pleasant. His cheekbones are hollow and his face a pale, ghostly colour that resembles the colour of his off-white hands and pale, yellow nails. "Miss Weasley? Where is she?" I question quietly as I finish my morning brew and he turns and regards me, his dark, pit-black eyes skimming over my face.

"Ah, yes, miss Weasley. I stumbled across you two late last night and helped her bring you back to your rooms. I have requested that she leave you for the rest of the day, as you will take some time to recover from last night." I glance quickly at him and my eyes widen.

"No, Head Girl, your moment with my Slytherin was not the reason for your ailment." A red splatter of colour springs to my cheeks and I bite my lip and look at my hands, the skin trembling and shuddering as its colour and state rearranges itself. "THE POTIONS, MISS GRANGER!" He suddenly exclaims and all hint of embarrassment is gone as the middle-aged man, who attended school with my best friend's dead parents, staggers to his feet and slaps me across the face. "I've told you so many times, Hermione, that the potion is a dangerous mixture of the wizarding world's most violent ingredients, and becomes vile and toxic to one's system after a particular interval in time, but... but you neglect to remember. The potion is made at a particular time and give or take a few moments, it is this time when it must be drunk, and yet, you continue to take them late or to..."

"I UNDERSTAND!" I roar, meeting him face on, but he pushes me backwards and I return to my seat on the bed.

"No, Miss Granger, you do not! How you saved this stupid race of people, I don't know! Your body contains a deadly poison, which although confined to your wrists and hands, inflicts on your entire form an awful curse. You, along with Mr Potter contain in yourselves the blood of a unicorn, the blood of a Serpent and the blood of Salthizar Slytherin, himself, and it is only this potion that prevents your falling. We can not even conceive why you have not become ravaged with hunger for the Unicorn, but the potion does play some part, so do not tell me that you understand, because you do not. No one does." I stare at the forsaken professor and feel my eyes well up as I listen to his words. I contain... I, a mere muggleborn, contain the blood of such _things._

"Why has no one told me? Told Harry?" I whisper and he raises his watery, brown eyes and shakes his head. "Mr Potter already knows; it is you who we have concealed the truth from. When we found you, Mr potter and Mr Weasley, it was you who were the last to be reached, for you would let not a soul by your form. Albus worked for the better part of a day trying to break through the barrier that encased your form but you had shielded yourself. Every time someone came to close, a great almighty cry rose upwards from your lungs like the sound of an eagle and your eyes blazed silver with a fearful fire. That is why you were not told until now, Miss Granger. Even Mr Potter, who remained unconscious for up to two months after the ordeal, welcome our aid with unconscious goodwill, but you child," he kneels before me and takes my hands, "you child, were repulsed by us all. It was only when Mr Weasley awoke, his body so weak that Charlie had to carry him, that you slowly let go." He bows his head and his hold on my hands slackens. "You let no one but Mr Weasley by your side and it was he who carried your form to the medical bay, even when his own body was so injured that we had to fill him with five litres of pepper-up potion to allow him to move. You rejected everything that you fought for that day and it was this reaction that made us so cautious. You, Hermione, were the morals of Voldemort that day, refusing everything that had seemed important to you. Everything, except for the boy who was too darkly imprinted in your memories for rejection." I shudder and struggle away from him, crawling back beneath my blankets.

"I wish you would leave now, Snape." I whisper and I feel the rustle of robe against carpet as he moves and the creak of a door as he leaves. When his footsteps disappear, I struggle to contain the grief within me and shudder deeper this time. "Oh God, Ginny, you were so wrong, Malfoy and I are perfect for each other." I struggle to stop the tears from falling over my eyes and I tug the sheets over my head.

"Mione? Snape said that I should come and visit you." Ron's voice creeps closer and he tugs the corner of the sheet upwards and I look at his face looking in. "God, Mione, what's wrong?" His voice asks and finally the damn breaks and I can contain the grief no more. Tears course down my cheeks as my red-haired friend crawls beneath the covers and pulls me into a crushing embrace.

"Only you Ron, only you could get to me that night. How much does that show for my character that not I rejected the beautiful, loving Albus Dumbledore?" I whimper and he shushes me and holds me tighter.

"You didn't reject a soul, Mione. Snape and Dumbledore have it entirely wrong. You were the last one conscious enough to be in Voldemort's company and it was that which you rejected. You were so locked within yourself because you were scared and you had to protect yourself somehow. The scene at your feet when I finally got through to you was one of repulsion, none but Harry could have done better without an occlumency spell, and that is all I saw. I didn't think about any such rubbish as 'she's too much like the dark lord' all I could think was, 'my poor girl, she was alone through it all, and she's so scared.'" He strokes my hair and I sigh, so glad for his comforting form. "God, Mione, you didn't think?" I shudder and try to draw away, but he holds tight. "You may have that fowl thing's blood in you but that doesn't make you anything like him. You've been hurt, Mione, hurt by the Dark Lord, and its time that you realise that you're only hurting yourself with these doubts."

"But Ron! What if someone tries to... tries to... bring him back, one of his death eaters? They all know I was the last one in his presence, the one that he chose to molest in front of them all. Lucius Malfoy threw threats like rain in a thunderstorm, but now... but now... he's right, the Dark Lord is torturing me, Ron, he's inside me, and he's creating these doubts. Doubts, which I never had before and which I wake from at night, shaking and drenched in sweat. Everywhere I turn I can't help but feel unworthy of this all... Oh god, Ron..." I bury myself tighter in his form, but freeze when I hear the unmistakable sound of contained laughter. "ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME?" I scream, and he can contain the laughter no more, his serious face replaced by atrocious laughter. "You're... you're laughing at me! I can't believe you!"

Mione," he whines and pulls me back, stroking my hair gently, "Where did that huge brain go, the brain which seemed so smart and reasoning? When did you become so superstitious, so doubtful? You hate Professor Twelarny, remember!" I calm down slightly and he continues. "The dark lord, my ass!" I slap him, but he continues, "You're no dark lord, Mione, you're just a scared little girl who longs for the times when she didn't drink potions all day. All day you do what Harry does, slinking around corners and sticking to the shadows, so scared that something may happen, that you may be targeted. But, don't you realise, Mione, that you're free now, you're free to be you again, green hands and all." He whispers into my hands, and I can feel tears blooming in my eyes again. "So what if you have _his_ blood in you, or not, you're still you. At the beginning of every week, I get a new potion from Professor Snape, who I secretly think makes it so fowl on..."

"A potion? But why?"

"You didn't think I walked away unharmed, did you? Now that would have been a great source of doubt, on my part. Yes, I take a potion for my muscles and nerves. Madame Pomfrey suspects I was hit by little over 100 different forbidden curses, so I feel a little proud, I suppose." I feel him shudder this time, and I want to take hold of him, but I pause as he starts again, "She and Dumbledore both suspect I'm the only person, besides Harry to have lasted so well against them, but I'm not too sure. My muscles are stiff and spasm constantly if I forget my potion, and I have blank spots in my memory from the sixth year of school. But at least I can be thankful that I didn't come out of it like Neville's parents." He pauses for a moment, his eyes turning strange and lost, "But at night, when I'm lying awake under the canopy of red felt, I can feel my fingers and toes twitching and my shoulder starts to spasm with aching pains, which leave me heavy headed. I can't even play Quidditch without this dampening it. Pomfrey suspects it'll get better, but that doesn't stop me from remembering cramps that wracked my body and the light breathless spasms that I got when I flew too high. God, Mione, you're not the only one who doubts themselves, but the thing is, you can't let it get to you. You can't believe that everything is over just because you fought a great Wizard and came out scathed, because otherwise Snape would be a blithering mess, Neville would have thrown away his crutches and fallen over on his one leg, and Ginny would be in St Mungos, her mind consumed with the words and thoughts of Tom Riddle." His hold on me gets a little tighter. "We always thought that we were invincible, didn't we? But I guess we're not. We used to run into battle, hearts in our hands, ready to take on any foe, and at first we got out unscathed, but with each new year, it seemed to dawn that our foolhardy rescues were coming at a cost. Cedric. Sirius. Hagrid. Dad. If you continue to doubt your actions during that time, then you insult those people who lay down for us. You insult the people whose bodies were lain out in long rows, when all the fighting ended. You forget that you owe all those poor saps more than just a thought." I gasp and suddenly we are both crying, both weeping for lost friends, family and innocence.

So that when sleep finally arrives and we close our eyes, our arms wrapped tightly around one another, our cheeks are coursed with salty trails.

Twilight leaves a heavy glow in its wake, sending ripples of golden and pink colour across and when I wake, my face just barely peeping above the tops of my blankets, I find myself alone, my red-haired friend gone.

"_But with each new year, it seemed to dawn that our foolhardy rescues were coming at a cost. Cedric. Sirius. Hagrid. Dad. If you continue to doubt, Mione, doubt your actions during that time, then you insult those people who lay down for us." _

__

Ron's words echo in my ears and I run a chaste hand through my knotted curls. _His Dad. I forgot all about his Dad. _I suddenly realise that in my own little world, I have forgotten about everything that was important. In some ways, Ronald Weasley had been wrong and Severus Snape had been correct, I had epitomised some of those morals in myself, those morals that the Great Git of all Wizards worshipped. I had neglected my friends in my own selfishness and in my desperateness to escape everything that seemed disastrous in my mind; I had run away from them, leaving them to cope with their own demons, even when they helped with mine. I had forgotten about those so dear to me, but even more dear to my friends, who had died with the darkness of my world. But not again.

I step from my bed and with aching limbs retrieve a bottle from the draw, and checking the time, now ready to finally be responsible, I down its contents. I take a deep breath, feeling for the first time better for taking this potion and languidly gather up my clothes and head to the bathroom. I am but a step from there when a figure emerges and I immediately recognise him.

"Mudblood." He greets me, his eyes grazing over my face and focusing on my lips for a moment. I shudder, anticipating something intense and preposterous moment, but what I find is something so close to sinfully sad. He leans forward, kisses the corner of my mouth and then breaths deeply. "I... I don't understand this. You still smell like the scent of shit!" He whispers, his voice hissing in my ear and I gasp, swallowing hard, as he walks casually past me.

When he is gone, I choke on a heavy sob, wondering why this has shocked and chilled me to the core. Then, trying to regain some of the semblance I had had before, I resume my path. Once under the warmth of the shower's spray, I run hands over my face and through my hair, as I try to calm down.

A few days ago, his response to me would have been more than welcome, but things had steadily gotten out of hand, and even though I loathed the way he had spoken to me, I loathed just as much the unspoken anger in his words. Who was he to behave so intolerably? Who was he to act so high and mighty, believing that he could act in such a way after such prior behaviour?

__

_Look at me, Hermione. That boy who stood before you, who kissed you and breathed words of passion and hatred in your ear all at once, is not the one for you, no matter how much your heart longs for forgetfulness. He will not bring you peace of mind with such a soul..._ Ginny's words echo in my ears, and I sigh. _Perhaps, Ginny, but who am I to deny such a burning, which is nothing like the burning of embarrassment or the burning of torturous dreams. _

__

I cradle my skull and suddenly begin to laugh, realising with enormous irony that it is not Ginny and it is not Ron and Harry who have finally crashed me back to reality, but the blond torturer of years gone by. In such close proximity with a boy so scarred and wronged by those that should love him, I have found a passionate comfort, an excruciating disillusioned moment, which has led me to a single conclusion. I see in him, that which I have gained, and he sees in me that which he has lost. The hands of certain particulars have brought such cruelty to our lives, but also an overwhelming search for things once craved for, things once believed in, things we once... things we once thought we were worthy of.

With an abrupt turn of the taps, I quickly assembled myself in my school uniform and headed down to the Great Hall.

"Hermione!" A voice greeted me as I strode down the hallways and I spun to greet my Irish friend, "You look better. The boys said you were sick and Ginny said something about an accident in the hallways." A smile spreads across my face and I latch onto his arm and throw him a beaming smile.

"I'm great, Seamus!" I tell him enthusiastically, and I suddenly wonder why I never tried just forgetting about my problems. The feeling that erupts in me when his face relaxes at my happy presence is mind-boggling and I feel enchanted by the fact that I caused this.

"You sure..." he questions gingerally and I tenderly pat his arm, and lead him into the Great Hall, "For once, Mr Finnegan, I am completely sure." His face, then, erupts in a toothy grin and we sit down at the table. Startled, Ginny eyes my careless complexion and sends me a curious glance, which I smile at and pull her down beside me. "I'm not sure whether you're right, but finally Gin, finally I've realised something. Cruelty from another caused my injuries, caused Harry's and Ron's and yours, and it was the skilled hands of murderers, which stole your Dad and our friends, but it wasn't the hands of a boy. I don't choose him, Gin, in fact I refuse him, but I won't fill my mind with hate. Not any more." I tell her and yanking her forward, I wrap my arms around her small frame and whisper, "You're one of my most important friends, Ginny Weasley and I'd forgotten just what happened before Voldemort's death. I am so sorry about your Dad." I whisper, and she pulls away.

"But, Mione..." I hold my breath, "you've already said you're sorry." And I grin and shake my head, "No, I didn't. I was off in my own little world, away when you needed me." And we hug once more, another smile lighting my face, when I feel with relief that I have finally done something right.

Dinner begins and I briefly raise my eyes from my plate and find myself eye to eye with only one person who could claim such blue eyes. His eyes widen and his pauses mid mouthful to hold my stare and I bite my lip for a moment then break the tension-filled moment with a gentle smile, which tugs at the corner of my lip. "Hermione?" Still smiling, I look away and to Harry, feeling giddy with this sudden calmness. "I'm glad to... Ron mentioned about Snape and I... what I mean is..." I cut him off with a wave of my hand and looking to my lap for a moment and blinking I abruptly bring my eyes back to his.

"It's alright. Honestly, Harry. They were right to keep such things from me, but now... now I'm ready to accept these new things about me. I'm not as strong as you, Harry, but how can I not believe in my actions when you're still here. I had always believed that I would teach you and Ron something, but now... now Mr Potter, I realise that everything worth knowing is in my friendship with you." I smile, squeeze his hand across the table and then turn to Dumbledore who has just charmed his spoon and glass to clang together.

"Good evening, students. I would like to draw some attention to our two head prefects. If the two would be so kinda as to stand." Slightly embarrassed and blushing I step out and over my seat, getting slowly to my feet. Malfoy does the same, a blush hidden well but for the tops of his ears. "These two have worked together very well in preceding days and have come up with a solution to our yearly event. A ball is to be held on the first night of May at dusk, in the grounds of Hogwarts. The ball shall be masked for the occasion and all years are invited to attend." A loud cheer erupts from the hall and the spoon and crystal glass ring clear for silence, again, "This year, our Head boy and girl have decided to make it somewhat of a scavenger hunt, which you can participate in on your own or with a partner, however, at the request of our Heads, I have placed several spells across the school." This comment sends a shockwave of whispers throughout the school and Dumbledore raises his hand and once again commands silence, as Malfoy and I take our seats. "These spells permit the acknowledging of a partner or the asking of one to be another's, but prevent one from talking about how they will be attending the ball that night, therefore making yet another task of the night to be 'locating your partner'. This night will be a night of goodwill and cheer, which will hopefully remain untarnished," He seems to look over at the Slytherin table and his eyes run over its most apparent characters. I follow his look and glance at the house of the boy who has been constantly on my mind.

Pansy Parkinson sits closest to the professor's table, her high pitched giggles resounding across the echoing hall. I've known her for seven years now but she has to be one of the most deceptive, deceiving characters of the school. Her blond hair, curled and streaming, is pulled back into a high pony tail, and I watch as she places a hand on her male companion's chest and gently pushes, sending him toppling into the girl on his other side. She giggles again and pats his cheek, but her eyes glint maliciously as they rake across her house's table and then across the others. She went out with Draco Malfoy till the beginning of sixth year and the break-up was anything but quiet, but it seems she has gotten over that small moment relatively quickly. She is a little taller than I and definitely larger than I, but there is something dead in her eyes, something missing from her blue eyes which one would expect to see in such an Aryan looking child, and as her eyes meet Dumbledore's and his seem to crease in sadness, she sneers and turns to Christian Lestrange and mumbles something, which causes him to chuckle lightly.

Christian Lestrange, son of Rodolphus Lestrange, is a high standing character of Slytherin and probably the most well known and open of them all. He has short brown hair, the colour of milk chocolate and open green eyes, which are always wide and filled with mirth. But it is his mouth and his posture which reclaims his status of Slytherin away from that a friendly Gryffindor. His mouth when he is not laughing is never smiling and can twist into the cruellest, most snarling expression to grace a person's presence. Within it, it holds the sharpest tongue and with a grating wit and prejudiced remarks, he lashes out with barbs at anyone, at anytime. His posture like his face is almost immaculately perfect, but for the limp that he walks with. The injury was mysteriously gained sometime after the summer holidays of the fifth year, and speculation ran wild for the first few weeks of how such an injury was gained, and he was seen many times within the hospital. But when I look at him, all I remember is seeing him one single night within the library, his face asleep on his arms, but his body and voice were not asleep and as he mumbled monstrosities, his leg and arms shook and tears coated his face. And then I ran.

Dumbledore continues talking, and my eyes travel further up the table to a shadowed end and they focus on the most secretive, most frightening character. Blaise Zabini. I shudder as he raises his face and he immediately looks straight at me, his eyes glazed with a silver lining, whilst his lips are still. One look makes me cold and I shake my head and turn to looking at him from beneath my lashes. His family is infamous throughout the wizarding community and only once have I seen his parents and once was definitely enough.

__

_I stand with Harry and Ron on the outskirts of Diagon Alley, Knockturn lying just beyond the winding corner, looking through the window of a small Alchemy shop which had just opened up, when his family approaches from the dreary, depressing area. We all turn, my two friends flanking both my sides to take in the most breathtaking sight. His father and mother have to be two of the most beautiful people to ever arise and for a moment I can't breath as I take in the painting-like image. They are both tall and dark skinned, like Blaise, but where the elder Zabini is dark haired and eyed like his son, the mistress of the elderly family is copper-haired with terrifying purple eyes. I can feel my companions gawking at the striking image as much as me, but when I eventually raise my eyes and meet the elder Zabini, his arm wrapped around his wife's waist, I shudder. His eyes, like his sons, are black pits of charcoal and they rake over my form for a moment before he releases his wife and steps forward. _

"_Mudblood Granger, I suppose," He drawls, his voice smooth and grating at the same time, whilst a single dark skinned finger hooks beneath my chin and raises my face upwards. There is no denying the perfection that his face holds, but the sight of his sneering mouth and eyes sends a shiver of disgust through me like a wave of nausea. I can feel Harry tensing beside me, but his moment is broken as a soft voice breaks through the gruelling silence, "My love, you can play with the children another time but right now, Blaise requires new robes before we return." The finger uncurls and he returns to her side._

"_Mr Weasley," Ron immediately looks upwards, his eyes slightly wide with suprise but also angry, "I do hope your family is well. Despite their... tastes, your mother is from the House of Black, and although your father is... well it doesn't matter. Please, send my regards." Mikael Zabini immediately begins to move forward and finally we all notice the solitary figure that stands behinds them and who moves slowly after them, completing the awing picture of the blue bloods. _

__

I watch him for a moment longer, my head cocked to the side with curiosity as I watch the young man push away dark, curling locks from his face, but start as he meets my eyes again. He suddenly grins, his teeth white against his skin and he bares the fore of his arm and I shudder, even from this distance, recognising the jutting, pointed scar, which runs down its length. He laughs, then leans over and whispers into another's ear and as I slowly look to this other, my eyes widen as both boys look to me.

The other is blond haired and pale skinned, making the two boys contrastingly striking, and one of the most beautiful pictures ever. If we were to look for the beautiful people of this school then we would only to have to look to the Slytherin table with all their interbreeding and pompousness that they would be found.

He stares at me, his eyes narrowed and his mouth lightly tugged at the corner with his famous smirk and I feel a blush settle over my cheeks. For a moment I cannot draw my eyes away from either of them but the clatter of a dish and the rush of liquid across my knees, draws my concentration away and I realise that Neville has knocked a jug over.

"Oi, Mione, are you off with the faeries or what?" Ron mutters dryly and I shoot Seamus a quick smile as he chants a quick drying charm. Neville apologises profusely over and over, the face, which once was rounded, becoming blushed in pink, but Harry rustles his hair and jokes, "God Neville, and we thought loosing a leg would make you clumsier, what we forgot about was that extra arm which keeps appearing." The table erupts in cheers and Harry grabs him in a brotherly headlock and rustles his hair into even less order.

Dinner soon finishes and I go to leave with the others but pause when they all shoot me strange looks, "What?" I query aloud and Harry shakes his head and chuckles.

"I think you were right, Ron, she's been taken captive by the faeries and they've left this forgetful thing in her place. Dumbledore wants to meet with you and the ferret after dinner in his office." Harry explains and I start backwards, glance around the hall and briefly see silver locks leaving ahead of me.

"Thanks guys, you're life savers." I run after the retreating figure, and finally catch up to him at Gargoyle entrance and he turns and regards me. All but his eyes remain emotionless, but those silvery blue pits, which reek havoc with my soul, turn to deeper and darker shade and I briefly catch the intense, lustful stare, which he aims.

"Mudblood." He acknowledges and he appears to lean forward, his brows creased, but a bodiless voice interrupts.

"Ah, students, so glad you were able to attend, please follow the staircase upwards." I step past him, making my way up the stares, but not before I catch his fingers clenched in fists and the faint blush, which lines his cheeks.

Once in Dumbledore's office, we both take a seat and face our headmaster. He begins by congratulating us on a job well done, and then, for some time, we discuss more pressing and distinct aspects of the up and coming night of cheer. I respond on instinct for the most part, for my mind is departed else where, or more precisely on the boy who sits beside me, but a lull in the conversation draws me back in and I return my attention.

Dumbledore is looking kindly at me, his eyes slightly drooping and perhaps not so twinkling, and I swallow as he turns his attention to Malfoy. His next words shock me and I feel the blood drain away from my face, "May I enquire after your father, Draco? Is he well?" The question seems to unseat Draco almost as much as it did I, but he quickly regains his composure and answers, "He is quite well, Sir. He takes the potion you requested and his sight is slowly returning. May I ask..." he pauses and I watch his throat shift, and his eyes shift to look at me for a moment, "pray, would you explain your curiosity?"

I do not hear the old man's response, only the blond haired boy's words from the night before. I cannot stop the unbearable shaking in my hands as flashes of a dreadful night rear their ugly heads.

__

_Didn't you hear his words, Hermione? His father is still alive. Lucius Malfoy already holds his son's mind in his grasp, and with each waking moment they becomes more and more alike._

__

Ginny's words assault me with anger, but it is not her memory that sends shudders through me.

_In a brief moment I watch the man who had stood closest to me, his blond hair streaming from beneath a black cloak and his eyes maniacal with anger, fly backwards and land with several others around their GREAT master. Only now do I hear the screams of pain and their curses of anguish, and only now do I watch their leader's blood splatter across parts of their bodies, like it did my hands. It burns through their clothes and garments like acid, and if they are unlucky enough, it hits their skin and creates poxes, scars and blemishes across their perfect, pure-blooded skin._

My eyes widen as I look to the phoenix, which is perched upon its branch, and it rears its head from beneath its feathery wings, and it lets out one single note, which the other two in the room do not hear. Only I.

_Tell me that you know about the predestined lives that they map out for you the minute you're conceived and I'll take a curtsy and bring you flowers, but don't remind me of the fact that he's my father because he's already engraved that fact on my back. Did you think that by killing Voldemort, you and your little buddies, that that would make him any less?_

My eyes fill with tears as I realise that the boy beside me lives with a man who believes, with every fibre of his being, that the morals of the one who was killed is perfectly correct.

_Have you ever looked down and discovered that you've been stabbed in the side by the very man who you thought was your father, your own flesh and blood?_

__

And here I thought we'd killed the only demon that this world would meet, but he lives in the same house with a monster. His entire life has been darkened with shadows

Dumbledore dismisses us from his study and he walks with us to the first step of the descending staircase. "Till next time. I don't think I spoke wrongly when I said that you two would create a year to remember. Thankyou both." He shakes Malfoy's hand first, and then as the blond boy turns to leave, Dumbledore presses a kiss to my forehead and says softly, "Do not think that it is only you who mourns this pain. Fawkes weeps for all with a single tear, his voice no longer echoing a song of joy but one of sadness.

We step off the final stair, the hallway, which leads us back to our warm beds, is dark but for a small lantern towards the distant end of corridor, and for a moment we pause. He stands just under a foot taller than me, and I raise my eyes to look at him, searching his face. It is flawless, not a pox, scar or blemish touching its milky skin and I hesitate for a moment before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. It is hardly a kiss, my lips barely touching his skin, and I can feel a steady heat travelling up the back of my neck. When I move away, his face has changed, the black pupils of his blue eyes dilated with shock, and his mouth drawn in a thin line, but his ears have been dipped in pink candy.

Then without a moment's hesitation I swing my hand around and slap the opposite cheek. And I watch as his face swings to the side and his mouth stretches, if it is even possible, into an even thinner line. "I am NOT something that you can play with, Draco Malfoy, and I loathe your treatment of me, but... but I can't judge you by your father's ways when I... when I wish not to be judged by your father's ways. I... I... don't know you, and I try to tell myself that I don't want to... but there is something about you..." I look at him, his eyes widening for a moment, and I smile very, very softly, "... that is so familiar. Something so... mindlessly right." I whisper and then I brush past him quickly and make my way, without a backwards glance, towards our room's portal.

Author's Note: I know, I know!! This is the worst it could have possibly been, but I have been so busy. I have just finished my first semester of University, and in between the last update and todays, I have been busy trying to pass my course and do so with some intelligence. As it is, I did so, and that is why, in the last week I have written perhaps 16 pages on this. You have probably all forgotten what you've written, but I just want to THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR REVIEWS. I'm sorry this chapter has taken so long but hopefully it will meet all your expectations. If not, I'm sorry.

Thanks again, guys.

Cai


	11. Letters of the Grim REPLACED

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P

Chapter 11 

The day's pass with uncharacteristic calm after that single moment outside Dumbledore's office and a week and a half before the night of the ball, during a breakfast of loud yawns and dreary eyes, the Headmaster speaks to us, "Students! Your attentions please! This weekend, I have organised a Hogsmeade outing for you all! First and Second years shall attend the outing under the supervision of their Head of Houses, as will all other students whose slips have yet to be signed. The gates will be open from nine on Saturday morning till six that evening, and all students must be within the grounds before that time." A great cheer arises from all the houses but my own and I return to picking at my food again.

The seventh years, whose faces were tired and drawn with lack of sleep from studying too much, are tugged into tight smiles and there is a great chatter erupting from every table. I pull a book from the space on the bench beside me and flip it open to a page of distinct drawings and detailed descriptions.

_Plaga Curatio (Wound Healing)_

The Newts are to be held two weeks and two days following the night of the ball and the Potions exam is to be based upon healing potions. Anything and everything that centres on the art of healing and curing can be tested on the exam and for now my best course of distraction is to drown myself in studying. My eyes skim over the worn pages and I take in the words as well as I can, but there is motion beside me and I glance to my side. It is not Blaise or Theodore Nott, who has only just returned to Hogwarts, but Pansy Parkinson.

Her pale face is smooth and without blemish like all pureblooded faces but what makes me look twice is the smile, which lights her cheeks. It is not drawn tight against her face or tugged into a conniving sneer, but rather softly places against her red lips. Elegantly drawing attention to the faint blush on her cheeks.

"To what do I owe the honour, Parkinson?" I drawl and return to the book in front of me, I do not read however, but wait for her response.

"Dear Draco, always the gentleman." I look over at her, leaning my cheek in the palm of my hand and watch as she raises a neatly manicured eyebrow in my direction. She leans forward to rest her elbows on the woodened table in front of her and leans her chin into the cup they create. "Tedious, isn't it? This whole ball thing." She waves a fluttering hand towards the scene of the other chattering tables and sniffs indifferently. "Well, Draco, I've never been one to be slow in what I'm saying. I am in need of a partner." To say I am prepared for her words is overestimating myself and I just restrain the look of shock, which is about to spring to life on my face, replacing it with a tugging smirk and raised eyebrows at her.

"A partner, Parkinson?" she nods and the smirk on my face grows larger, causing her pretty countenance to falter. "And you are asking me?" she nods again and I can tell that the smile, which looked so perfect on her face for a short moment, is becoming tighter and harder to bear. "What happened to your other minions, Pansy? Many of these boys would willingly dip their fingers in this honey jar, but presently I'm not one of them." The picture of the perfect daughter drops and her face becomes angry and perhaps a little sad. "Now, now, Pansy, don't go getting all snotty on me. You almost had me going there with the whole smiling façade. You don't need to pretend for me, Luv, I know all about you and your ways. Wasn't it your ways which got you out of our mess in the first place." I drawl and she huffs indignantly before getting to her feet and moving to sit beside Millicent Bullstrode.

There is a slight shuffling beside me again and Pansy's empty place is taken by Blaise whose back is stretched tall and straight as a ruler. I shoot him an impatient glare, coming to the conclusion that at least for the time being, no study will be attained. I shut my book with a thud and turn my face to Blaise's stiff, formal portrait, his eyes not yet focused on mine but rather on Millicent and Pansy who sit further up the table, twittering like birds on a branch to Crabbe and Goyle. "If you wanted her as your partner, Zabini, you need only to have asked. She wouldn't refuse the hand of rich pure blood, however much smarter they are than her." Blaise turns and looks at me sharply, his coal eyes assessing and calculating before a small smirk tugs on the corner of my lips.

"She surprised you with that one, didn't she Malfoy? But I can't seem to fathom a reason as to why you wouldn't know she was after you again. After all, she has been going on about you for several weeks now. Flaunting your past relationship; warning all the younger girls off the Malfoy blood, she has." I dart a look at the blond-haired girl sitting several seats up, but Blaise quickly continues, "But then again, other things have been on your mind, haven't they Draco. A certain stain of a girl, has been niggling at your thoughts. She won't have you, will she?" His whisper hisses in my ear, but no one pays either of us a bit of attention. When Zabini and I talk, no one ever does. He sends a pointed look over at her table and smirks, his chin resting on his arms, now folded before him. "Surprising, really, but strangely alluring. If only Potter and Weasley knew of their lady's talent for catching Death Eater's sons, perhaps they might have used it for their greater cause, or maybe they already are."

His words send shivers down my spine and I place my hands in my laps, straining to unclench tight fingers and relax tense muscles. His words of the village mudblood dig deep and I follow his eyes to her table, where she sits. Her books are strewn before her on the table, but her eyes are not on them. But rather, her face is alight with laughter as the Irish goon who sits opposite her says something, which has her and the youngest Weasley in fits of giggles. Something catches at the pit of my stomach as she twirls a piece of blond-brown hair around her finger and leans over to the other Weasley to tell him their joke. It is his laughter, which catches other's attentions, and he quickly takes it upon himself to send the rest of the table into hilarity. "One has to wonder, Draco, what exactly you are getting from this? Do you find humour in your treatment of this thing or is it something more? What have you seen in these Gryffindors, which has you tied in knots? They're grating, to be sure, but no more than usual and Potter hasn't even commented on Pansy's new hair, so something must have calmed them." I sharply look at the dark Italian boy beside me and if it is possible, raise a single eyebrow even higher.

"Humour, Blaise? I never would have thought you were up to it." I am impatient with the tail end of this conversation and before I can stop myself, I speak, "Was there a reason for your company, Zabini, or do you seek to infuriate me?" He sneers and sighs, "Indeed there was, Draco my boy. But before I continue, I don't think Pansy would suit my kind of tastes, perhaps Theodore Nott. Here's back from overseas, isn't he?"

Christian Lestrange who is seated across from us, looks back and comments, "I don't think the person you're looking for will be found in Theo. He's perhaps not the easiest of people." He nods his head towards the end of the table where a weedy looking boy with lanky, brown hair that is cast over his face sits upon the tabletop with his back to them. He is talking to a portrait.

I look to Christian and he shrugs, a pinched smile spreading across his lips. "Mother said that he's been in Russia for the last eight months spending time with his Grandparents. His father would have been less than pleased, I'm assuming, if he knew of this arrangement, but as it is, he won't." He chuckles and his brows crease for a moment. "His Grandfather was the headmaster of this school two times before Dumbledore, and one of the most arrogant. I have to wonder what exactly Theo will have come back with this time." I look over at Theodore for a moment and I remember one particular moment with the different, dreamy boy. One moment, where scars, which no one but he truly sees, were put out for my eyes to briefly see.

"_Draco!" I hear my name and walk slowly to my father's office, my hand trailing along the wall, "Draco!" This time his voice is slightly more impatient and I quicken my step until I am slouching in his doorway. I just manage to avoid the small glass vase, which soars over my head and crashes to splinters on the far wall. "What took you so long, boy?" I raise an eyebrow at him, pushing a hand through my hair, but don't answer his question, knowing he'd rather not know, and instead watch as he flicks his wand at the broken pieces and the vase reforms. "Nott will be here in several minutes and I wish for you to keep his son entertained. Can I count on your behaving yourself?" My brows furrow in annoyance but I nod and head towards the kitchen, where mother leans over the bench top, her chin rested in one slim, fine-boned hand, whilst the other flicks through one of her magazines._

"_Father is expecting guests soon." I mutter as I take a mug of boiling tea in my hands from the small elf that appears below me. But before I can scold the elf for the temperature of the cup, it has disappeared and another has replaced it. This one is cooler and easier to hold. I sneer at the small being, feeling my temper rising as its face creases and furrows in worry but before I can tip the drink over its head, a soft cough breaks through my thoughts. I turn to my mother and she points a delicate finger at the doorway. I turn around and there stands Sebastian Nott and his son, Theodore._

_Sebastian Nott is like the grim reaper himself. Tall, gangly and gaunt in face and frame, but well dressed and priding himself on his connections and wealth, which piles up in tall, long columns in vaults 534, 535 and 536. His brown hair, tawny and straw-like, hangs unevenly around his face and shadows, like it does his son's, hollow, watery blue eyes, which appear dazed but hide the cunning and keen mind of a sinister man. Beside him stands his son, short where his father is tall but shallow and shadowed in all the same places, with hair of dusty brown and misty, blue eyes._

_I glance at Theodore, a boy who I have grown up beside as much as I have Blaise Zabini, and my eyes narrow. However silent and dim-witted this boy may seem, I know better. I know so much better. Where Granger stands as first in the school, the second place which should be mine, is in his hands. He fascinates me in fear as much as Granger does in lust and I look to him almost for approval, but not quite._

_I mutter something under my breath, before walking past the sullen boy and grab the corner of his jacket, tugging him with nimble fingers after me. I pause at the library doors, and now that he is much shorter than me, I find I must look down at him, lowering my head to stare down my nose. I break the wards, which confine the room and step inside, this brother in power and connection slipping past me and up to the first of several bookshelfs. I sit on the edge of a table's top and regard the boy who draws his hand across the spines of books, shivering as I watch how his eyes widen and his lips move in silent words._

"_Draco." Startled from my thoughts, I look to him, "Yes, Theo."_

"_What does your father tell you?" He pauses and then sighs, "Every night, Draco, every night, Sebastian speaks words of horror in my ears and every morning I wake shuddering. What does your father tell you or is it just mine?" He has paused in his dedicated attention towards the book and he leans his head against the wood. "I'm so sick and tired of these voices which whisper in my ears when I try to sleep. So sick and ever so tired. He wants me to be like him, but what he doesn't realise is that I'm so much more smarter than him." There is a tone to his voice, which makes Theo sound pompous and full of himself, but I can see the hands, which twitch by his side. "And I know that he will never win this batt-" I am off the table and in his face before he can say another word, and slamming him up against the far wall I cover his mouth with my hand, looking fearfully at the ajar door._

"_Don't mention such things in this house, Theodore Sebastian Nott, unless you're hoping to get me killed along with you." I don't mean for the words to seem so harsh, but when they leave my lips, they are hard like a hiss of cold air and they strike him straight on. His eyes widen and I immediately regret my words and release him. It has always been this way. No matter how angry I may be at Theo, I always regret anything that is offensive towards him, thus is our relationship. Thus is our past._

_He leaves that day, his eyes sorrowful and almost mournful. But as he passes me to follow his father through the door, he grips the fold of my arm and pulls me close, embracing me. Like a brother. "Do not fear, Draco, what has not happened yet. You need only fear what has already occurred."_

Restless in my seat, I get to my feet and Blaise's face spreads into a grin, which can be described as nothing but cocky. "Always had a soft spot for Theo, didn't we Draco? The little child of Slytherin who secretly plots the downfall of everything he sees, no matter what side they belong to." I vaguely feel a heat on the back of my neck, but my mind is on returning to my private dorms, and I take my leave from them, walking towards Theodore. 

"Draco." He acknowledges as I draw close, but as I nod at him his hand appears from nowhere and halts my progression. "Your father came to tea at our house the night before last." I pause, feeling my breath become short in my chest and listen closer, "He looks well." I cannot understand where he is taking this, but continue to hear him. "We did however, not get to see Mrs Malfoy; mother was particularly upset about this." I feel the colour draining from my face and pushing him out of my way I try to leave the hall without running and I do succeed. Just.

Once in the hallways I break into a mad dash and once I am in my private study, I begin rummaging through a series of documents, which lie beside my bed, throwing papers everywhere. Finally, towards the bottom, I find a letter, the seal of the Malfoy clan pressed into a green, claggy wax. I can't open it quick enough and I struggle to understand his words.

_Your mother is not well, Draco. She has been little help since you've left for your final year, mulling over something in particular. Send her your regards, Son._

"Your mother is not well, Draco. She has been- she has been little help." I cannot seem to form the words with my own tongue without stuttering and throw the letter at the wall suddenly unable to contain the scream, which erupts from within me. "What have you done father?" I whisper, breath not coming easily to me and I sag to the floor, my back resting against the wooden boards of my bed's frame and rest my hands on my face.

_I am awake and the room is foggy with the heavy scents of incense and the mirrors wet with the stale stagnant scent of blood, water and healing balms. I try my voice, but my throat seems dry and scratchy, and after several tries, a fit of coughing overtakes me and my hands and bed sheets are splattered with blood. As the coughs subside and breath resides to my lungs I croak for aid and a figure runs through the door and pulls the curtains away._

_In a loose, white blouse, which buttons to her breasts and a long red skirt of silk and cream, my mother stands at my bedside, her eyes wide with surprise and her lips pursed in shock. "Moth-" the words don't fall from my lips before I am assaulted by a vicious embrace, which sends sharp pains down my back and brings memories of a frightening moment to the front. _

_He stands above me, his face splattered with glistening, red droplets and his blue eyes crazed and lunatic with a maniacal grin, but still I see his face. Lucius Malfoy stands proud of the bloody mess he has reduced his son to; finally Lucius Xavier Malfoy looks upon his son with something other than disappointment._

_Her hands grip the tops of my shoulders, but I cannot prevent the whimper, which escapes, from my lips and she quickly pulls away and forces me to lie back. As she tends to my wounds, she does not show any further affection and her hands work quickly to rearrange the bandages, which are becoming loose from my awakening. Finally she forces a potion down my throat and in the midst of choking I taste the acidic likeness to a Dreamless Sleep that it contains, whilst she dabs at the blood about me._

_Trying to speak again, she stops me with a hand, and pulls long fingers through her straight blond hair before tucking the bed sheets in around me. The potion is beginning to take affect, but before I fall desperately into this world of slumber, I strain my ears to hear her words, "Oh, Draco, if only I had never had a son."_

The bell rings for class and I get to my feet and pick up the scattered books, which I need for the day. An undeniable fear is rippling through my form like a vicious demon, but the source of it, I cannot be too sure of.

Transfiguration is first and after a reproval for my lateness, I sit through class my eyes focused on the blue sky, which lies just beyond engraved glass panes. The following class is Potions and Snape eyes me curiously, my lack of participation obvious, and instead I watch the curly haired girl one seat in front of me. Her shoulder length hair of pale brown with blond tinges, catching my line of vision, and I cannot help the shudder of delight which courses through my fingers. Remembering the way the skin of her neck, which lies just below that mane of hair, felt beneath them. Finally, arithmancy appears to end the day, and I sit alone in the classroom, her in the seat beside me as we do nothing but read. She reads quickly and efficiently, her eyes darting across the lines of words and her fingers flicking the pages with distinct accuracy. I cannot help but stare at her and finally with a huff of annoyance she slams the book shut and turns to face me.

I could try to contain the smirk which graces my pale lips, but there would be no satisfaction in that and I instead take delight in watching her brows crease in anger. "Is something you want, Malfoy? Something I can help you with, so that you will cease your infernal assessment?" I shake my head, returning to my book with an arrogant sneer, just managing to contain the words. _Nothing but you. _

The day slowly winds down, gracing me with the night in which to complete my thoughts, but when night falls, I find myself overcome by drowsiness and I stumble to my bedroom, asleep in matter of moments. But in slumber, faceless people plague my dreams and I wake later that night, sweating and gasping, and head to the bathroom to calm my senses.

"Goodnight, Seamus!" A voice lightly laughs and I watch as she pauses in the doorway and hugs her friend, holding him tightly, before they wrestle from each other's arms and separate. She closes the portrait and immediately shrieks when she finds me standing just metres behind her, watching her.

Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are bright and I cannot help but rekindle the thought that this girl can be anything but real. She pauses mid step, her hands filled with a hefty number of books and she opens her mouth, closes it again and then speaks.

"Malfoy. We didn't see you at dinner." Her words are clear and precise but as I watch her, I notice the furrow of her brow and the flickering of her eyes, as she seems to scan the room. I reach out and take hold of her chin, drawing her closer to me until she is a hairbreadth away and I smirk, as she squeaks very quietly.

"You notice when I'm away, Mudblood? I'm touched, truly touched." I whisper and her eyes glaze over with anger at the dirty nickname, and she shakes her face from my hold. She takes unsteady steps backwards and her cheeks appear to blush.

"So we're already back to this, are we Malfoy? I- I" she can't complete a sentence and I force my lips to turn up at their ends, instead of the frown which threatens my face.

_What is this feeling of turbulence in my stomach, this unease that I feel? _

"Fucking hell, Malfoy. I'm sick of this! All of it!" She screams at me, and I flinch, noticeably, so that she pauses in her ranting and takes a step back towards me. "What is all this?" I shrug at her, pretending that I don't notice the tension between us, which clouds the air, not looking at her as she takes another step forward, "Don't ignore me!" I refuse to meet her eyes and it is only when her hand connects with my cheek that I snap my eyes back to hers. "Don't fucking ignore me, Draco!" Her voice is shrill and I catch the offending hand before it can hit me again. She seems to stutter for a moment, looking for the right words and our hands play a battle of wills, hers twisting to get from mine, and my own trying to contain them. "Stop it! Just stop it already, Malfoy." Her whispers halt my fingers as they claw at the skin of her hands and I look to her face in time to see it look away, down at the carpet behind her. "You began this all and I got no say in it, but I won't have you ignore me! Not any more! You say I've placed some enchantment on you, but who are you to say that when you play such tricks and games, luring me out of my mind." Her face is bright and blushed and my eyes widen at her words, and slowly she eases her hands from mine and she leaves me there. Alone.

The night passes in restlessness, my mind distracted away from sleep with scents and forms and sights and when morning comes, it seems like I pass the day in a state of formless sleep. And then again, when night falls and morning rises in a matter of hours, I pass the day again with my eyes not focused, and my housemates words passing over me like waves. I notice nothing but that I do not see her again.

The weekend has finally begun and I sit at the breakfast table, listening to the excited chatter of all the students who are attending Hogsmeade, and grimacing at the mess that Crabbe and Goyle are making with their meals. Mail swoops through the windows on the feet of taloned birds, and I watch an ebony black owl, which I recognise as my fathers, soar downwards until it can rest on my outstretched arm. I unclasp the sealed letter and then, with a flick of my wrist, the bird takes flight. It would be pointless to offer the bird food for he eats naught but what Lucius feeds him.

I then leave the room and enter the hallway, leaning up against a shadowed wall where I can open the letter in private. I tear at the seal and as I read the letter, the air appears colder and I cannot stop my knees from crumpling beneath me.

_Your mother is dead, Draco. There is no need to return for the funeral for it shall be closed to all but her parents and I. All she owns has been left to you. Please do not worry about your mother, son. She died as she began- alone and in her sleep, leaving me with little help. I am well and hope to see you at the end of your year._

_Your Father, _

_Lucius Malfoy._

The air around me is silent and deathly still and I try to contain the rasp of my breath as it sags from my chest. I bite down upon my lip to contain the sob and smother my face in my hands, trying to block away the tears, which threaten to fall and realise that I cannot breath. My throat has closed over and what seemed so easy moments before is ever so hard. Then as if the spell, which was cast over me, has been released, the voices of excited students approach and I can breath again.

I stumble to my feet and look out from the dark drapes of shadows and pause, my eyes meeting golden brown ones, which belong to a pretty, rounded face. She sits on the bottom of the descending steps and she looks at me through the railing panels, her eyes confused and curious. I hold her gaze for a moment and I realise just what it is about her that seems so infatuating.

She has everything I don't and want.

She is everything I am and can't ever be.

And she is everything that I never wish to be.

She blushes prettily, her hair resting across a portion of her face and she opens her mouth to speak, but it is not her voice which fills both our ears, but Potter's, as he crosses the landing and makes his way to her. Her eyes are immediately drawn to him, with only a small look of oddity in my direction and the letter that I hold gently in my hand, crumples as I pinch myself.

_This is all real, _I tell myself, and suddenly nausea overwhelms me and I take off towards the closest bathrooms, where I upheave my breakfast. I crouch to the floor; the feet of other students not seen, and let out an almighty growl, my foot connecting with the cubicle wall as tears fall down my cheeks. I cannot form the words to curse the man that befalls the figure of my father and I swing a fist at the wall in anger, its connection rattling the walls with a crack, which ricochets through my wrist, and suddenly I can't stop the tears and I slump to the floor, sobs racking my form.

"_Draco! Draco, please get out of the sun!" She calls to me and I turn and watch her as she descends upon me and places a small cap, no bigger than her palm, upon my head. She doesn't touch me and her face doesn't offer an affectionate smile or a humorous smirk, but her eyes sparkle at me. They sparkle like the diamonds, which they resemble. "You can't play outside without this hat; your skin is much to fair. Fair like your fathers." Her hand appears to hesitate in the air beside my cheek but before I can blink it is at her side again and I blink up at her, the sunlight blurring my sight. She is beautiful. So beautiful I cannot touch her, so beautiful she seems to crack every time father smacks her across the cheek._

"_Your father shall return home tonight, Draco, and I don't want your cheeks red with the sun." She starts to turn away but pauses mid-step and abruptly her hand sweeps against the skin of my cheek. It rests there for a moment and I savour this momentary lapse of form for the short instant that it is bestowed. And then she is walking away, her posture straight and her shoulders curved attractively back. _

_Your mother is dead. _His words are like a hammer, giving yet another blow to my soul and as I gather my form, shielding my face with a solemn mask and straightening my back like the wealthy son that I am, I try to contain the crazed look which I can feel overwhelming me.

The pain in my hand and leg is searing and as I walk out of the toilets and through the Great Hall to the grassy grounds of Hogwarts, I take to a subtle limp, which aids me well. Blaise shoots me an inquisitive look, his eyes flowing to my leg and hand, which drips blood and then returns to my face, but I grimace and bear my teeth in a toothy grin. Theo falls into step with me, but I don't look at him and soon he falls behind and begins a conversation with Christian, their voices moulding into the background.

The town of hogsmeade is a hive of activity, constantly moving and always noisy, and I realise, as I enter a small dusty shop, that I still contain the traitorous parchment, now mattered with the blood from my hand.

"Ah, Mr Malfoy, so glad of you to come by." A small, stout man welcomes me from behind his desk and I glance at the objects above his head, my eyes gazing at several different items.

"You got my letter, I presume." He nods and I my eyes focus on the ornate wall off to the side, before continuing. "I was also hoping you could help me with something a little different."

"The school ball, of course! I have a selection just brought in on Professor Dumbledore's request. They're just over there, along that aisle over far. If you'll come with me now, though, you can look at them in a moment." I agree and follow him out back, my eyes skimming over the contents of the container, which I have ordered. "Quite a task you put for me, but I've definitely got what you wanted. Did you want it wrapped and packaged or just the way it is?" Wrapped, I answer and I leave him to his job, returning to the darkened shelves that he pointed to.

"Oh, Harry!" I am not alone in the shadows and I watch as a familiar girl spins, her curls swishing about her head as she turns to face me. But it is not Hermione Granger's face that I see, but that of a moon-faced cherub, with ghost white skin and pale pink cheeks. The mask that she wears accentuates the redness of her lips like cherries fresh from a tree and the amber clarity of her eyes as they widen, but I quickly halt her tense actions as she intends to pull it off her face and hold it there in place, her hand gloved within mine. "Malfoy." She acknowledges and I watch as she bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes curiously round. She wriggles her fingers, intending to wrench them free from my hold, her lack of comfort at our closeness obvious, but I flinch and she immediately turns her eyes to my injury. "Your- your hand, Malfoy." She whispers, her words light on the heavy air between us and for a moment we stare at the drops of red blood, which flow onto her creamy fingers. But the moment is broken as she shudders and her shoulders sag, and I need only to lean forward a little to catch her in my arms.

Her frame is tiny and petite within my arms and they grow tighter around her form, holding her to me as she breaths heavily, obviously not one for the sight of blood. I breathe in her scent: musty, dry and like the oil of tea-trees, and I discover that I am craving the moment when she will return the embrace.

"Malfoy." The silence is broken as her she speaks my name and I gently feel the touch of fingers upon the hair of my head and then I cannot contain the tears, which course, down my cheek and I need only to hold her tighter. So much tighter. "Malfoy?" There is a sense of alarm in her voice as she whispers and I choke on the salty trails, not able to contain the pain inside. We stumble and her back meets the shelf wall, but neither release our hold and I try to breath deeply my back shuddering.

_I thought that I could be strong about this. I thought that the death of a woman I hardly knew would not mean so much to me. I thought that the anger I felt would feel so natural, but nothing is like I thought. _

The gentleness of her fingers on my scalp is like returning home and finding Narcisssa Malfoy no longer afraid to embrace her son. And then I cannot contain myself, "She's dead. My mother's dead and I never said a word." I whisper and her hold grows tighter on me as if trying to keep me from drowning, as if trying to keep my head just above the surface.

Author's Note: That ladies and gentlemen is chapter 11, posted under no.12, because of the author's note. I hope you all liked it! That has to be one of the quickest updates I've done, I suppose, and I'm sure all the people who were commenting about my updating times will be pleased. At least I hope you will be. I like this chapter, and it introduces Theodore Nott who I discovered at JK Rowling's s 


	12. Letters of the Grim

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P

Chapter 11 

The day's pass with uncharacteristic calm after that single moment outside Dumbledore's office and a week and a half before the night of the ball, during a breakfast of loud yawns and dreary eyes, the Headmaster speaks to us, "Students! Your attentions please! This weekend, I have organised a Hogsmeade outing for you all! First and Second years shall attend the outing under the supervision of their Head of Houses, as will all other students whose slips have yet to be signed. The gates will be open from nine on Saturday morning till six that evening, and all students must be within the grounds before that time." A great cheer arises from all the houses but my own and I return to picking at my food again.

The seventh years, whose faces were tired and drawn with lack of sleep from studying too much, are tugged into tight smiles and there is a great chatter erupting from every table. I pull a book from the space on the bench beside me and flip it open to a page of distinct drawings and detailed descriptions.

_Plaga Curatio (Wound Healing)_

The Newts are to be held two weeks and two days following the night of the ball and the Potions exam is to be based upon healing potions. Anything and everything that centres on the art of healing and curing can be tested on the exam and for now my best course of distraction is to drown myself in studying. My eyes skim over the worn pages and I take in the words as well as I can, but there is motion beside me and I glance to my side. It is not Blaise or Theodore Nott, who has only just returned to Hogwarts, but Pansy Parkinson.

Her pale face is smooth and without blemish like all pureblooded faces but what makes me look twice is the smile, which lights her cheeks. It is not drawn tight against her face or tugged into a conniving sneer, but rather softly places against her red lips. Elegantly drawing attention to the faint blush on her cheeks.

"To what do I owe the honour, Parkinson?" I drawl and return to the book in front of me, I do not read however, but wait for her response.

"Dear Draco, always the gentleman." I look over at her, leaning my cheek in the palm of my hand and watch as she raises a neatly manicured eyebrow in my direction. She leans forward to rest her elbows on the woodened table in front of her and leans her chin into the cup they create. "Tedious, isn't it? This whole ball thing." She waves a fluttering hand towards the scene of the other chattering tables and sniffs indifferently. "Well, Draco, I've never been one to be slow in what I'm saying. I am in need of a partner." To say I am prepared for her words is overestimating myself and I just restrain the look of shock, which is about to spring to life on my face, replacing it with a tugging smirk and raised eyebrows at her.

"A partner, Parkinson?" she nods and the smirk on my face grows larger, causing her pretty countenance to falter. "And you are asking me?" she nods again and I can tell that the smile, which looked so perfect on her face for a short moment, is becoming tighter and harder to bear. "What happened to your other minions, Pansy? Many of these boys would willingly dip their fingers in this honey jar, but presently I'm not one of them." The picture of the perfect daughter drops and her face becomes angry and perhaps a little sad. "Now, now, Pansy, don't go getting all snotty on me. You almost had me going there with the whole smiling façade. You don't need to pretend for me, Luv, I know all about you and your ways. Wasn't it your ways which got you out of our mess in the first place." I drawl and she huffs indignantly before getting to her feet and moving to sit beside Millicent Bullstrode.

There is a slight shuffling beside me again and Pansy's empty place is taken by Blaise whose back is stretched tall and straight as a ruler. I shoot him an impatient glare, coming to the conclusion that at least for the time being, no study will be attained. I shut my book with a thud and turn my face to Blaise's stiff, formal portrait, his eyes not yet focused on mine but rather on Millicent and Pansy who sit further up the table, twittering like birds on a branch to Crabbe and Goyle. "If you wanted her as your partner, Zabini, you need only to have asked. She wouldn't refuse the hand of rich pure blood, however much smarter they are than her." Blaise turns and looks at me sharply, his coal eyes assessing and calculating before a small smirk tugs on the corner of my lips.

"She surprised you with that one, didn't she Malfoy? But I can't seem to fathom a reason as to why you wouldn't know she was after you again. After all, she has been going on about you for several weeks now. Flaunting your past relationship; warning all the younger girls off the Malfoy blood, she has." I dart a look at the blond-haired girl sitting several seats up, but Blaise quickly continues, "But then again, other things have been on your mind, haven't they Draco. A certain stain of a girl, has been niggling at your thoughts. She won't have you, will she?" His whisper hisses in my ear, but no one pays either of us a bit of attention. When Zabini and I talk, no one ever does. He sends a pointed look over at her table and smirks, his chin resting on his arms, now folded before him. "Surprising, really, but strangely alluring. If only Potter and Weasley knew of their lady's talent for catching Death Eater's sons, perhaps they might have used it for their greater cause, or maybe they already are."

His words send shivers down my spine and I place my hands in my laps, straining to unclench tight fingers and relax tense muscles. His words of the village mudblood dig deep and I follow his eyes to her table, where she sits. Her books are strewn before her on the table, but her eyes are not on them. But rather, her face is alight with laughter as the Irish goon who sits opposite her says something, which has her and the youngest Weasley in fits of giggles. Something catches at the pit of my stomach as she twirls a piece of blond-brown hair around her finger and leans over to the other Weasley to tell him their joke. It is his laughter, which catches other's attentions, and he quickly takes it upon himself to send the rest of the table into hilarity. "One has to wonder, Draco, what exactly you are getting from this? Do you find humour in your treatment of this thing or is it something more? What have you seen in these Gryffindors, which has you tied in knots? They're grating, to be sure, but no more than usual and Potter hasn't even commented on Pansy's new hair, so something must have calmed them." I sharply look at the dark Italian boy beside me and if it is possible, raise a single eyebrow even higher.

"Humour, Blaise? I never would have thought you were up to it." I am impatient with the tail end of this conversation and before I can stop myself, I speak, "Was there a reason for your company, Zabini, or do you seek to infuriate me?" He sneers and sighs, "Indeed there was, Draco my boy. But before I continue, I don't think Pansy would suit my kind of tastes, perhaps Theodore Nott. Here's back from overseas, isn't he?"

Christian Lestrange who is seated across from us, looks back and comments, "I don't think the person you're looking for will be found in Theo. He's perhaps not the easiest of people." He nods his head towards the end of the table where a weedy looking boy with lanky, brown hair that is cast over his face sits upon the tabletop with his back to them. He is talking to a portrait.

I look to Christian and he shrugs, a pinched smile spreading across his lips. "Mother said that he's been in Russia for the last eight months spending time with his Grandparents. His father would have been less than pleased, I'm assuming, if he knew of this arrangement, but as it is, he won't." He chuckles and his brows crease for a moment. "His Grandfather was the headmaster of this school two times before Dumbledore, and one of the most arrogant. I have to wonder what exactly Theo will have come back with this time." I look over at Theodore for a moment and I remember one particular moment with the different, dreamy boy. One moment, where scars, which no one but he truly sees, were put out for my eyes to briefly see.

"_Draco!" I hear my name and walk slowly to my father's office, my hand trailing along the wall, "Draco!" This time his voice is slightly more impatient and I quicken my step until I am slouching in his doorway. I just manage to avoid the small glass vase, which soars over my head and crashes to splinters on the far wall. "What took you so long, boy?" I raise an eyebrow at him, pushing a hand through my hair, but don't answer his question, knowing he'd rather not know, and instead watch as he flicks his wand at the broken pieces and the vase reforms. "Nott will be here in several minutes and I wish for you to keep his son entertained. Can I count on your behaving yourself?" My brows furrow in annoyance but I nod and head towards the kitchen, where mother leans over the bench top, her chin rested in one slim, fine-boned hand, whilst the other flicks through one of her magazines._

"_Father is expecting guests soon." I mutter as I take a mug of boiling tea in my hands from the small elf that appears below me. But before I can scold the elf for the temperature of the cup, it has disappeared and another has replaced it. This one is cooler and easier to hold. I sneer at the small being, feeling my temper rising as its face creases and furrows in worry but before I can tip the drink over its head, a soft cough breaks through my thoughts. I turn to my mother and she points a delicate finger at the doorway. I turn around and there stands Sebastian Nott and his son, Theodore._

_Sebastian Nott is like the grim reaper himself. Tall, gangly and gaunt in face and frame, but well dressed and priding himself on his connections and wealth, which piles up in tall, long columns in vaults 534, 535 and 536. His brown hair, tawny and straw-like, hangs unevenly around his face and shadows, like it does his son's, hollow, watery blue eyes, which appear dazed but hide the cunning and keen mind of a sinister man. Beside him stands his son, short where his father is tall but shallow and shadowed in all the same places, with hair of dusty brown and misty, blue eyes._

_I glance at Theodore, a boy who I have grown up beside as much as I have Blaise Zabini, and my eyes narrow. However silent and dim-witted this boy may seem, I know better. I know so much better. Where Granger stands as first in the school, the second place which should be mine, is in his hands. He fascinates me in fear as much as Granger does in lust and I look to him almost for approval, but not quite._

_I mutter something under my breath, before walking past the sullen boy and grab the corner of his jacket, tugging him with nimble fingers after me. I pause at the library doors, and now that he is much shorter than me, I find I must look down at him, lowering my head to stare down my nose. I break the wards, which confine the room and step inside, this brother in power and connection slipping past me and up to the first of several bookshelfs. I sit on the edge of a table's top and regard the boy who draws his hand across the spines of books, shivering as I watch how his eyes widen and his lips move in silent words._

"_Draco." Startled from my thoughts, I look to him, "Yes, Theo."_

"_What does your father tell you?" He pauses and then sighs, "Every night, Draco, every night, Sebastian speaks words of horror in my ears and every morning I wake shuddering. What does your father tell you or is it just mine?" He has paused in his dedicated attention towards the book and he leans his head against the wood. "I'm so sick and tired of these voices which whisper in my ears when I try to sleep. So sick and ever so tired. He wants me to be like him, but what he doesn't realise is that I'm so much more smarter than him." There is a tone to his voice, which makes Theo sound pompous and full of himself, but I can see the hands, which twitch by his side. "And I know that he will never win this batt-" I am off the table and in his face before he can say another word, and slamming him up against the far wall I cover his mouth with my hand, looking fearfully at the ajar door._

"_Don't mention such things in this house, Theodore Sebastian Nott, unless you're hoping to get me killed along with you." I don't mean for the words to seem so harsh, but when they leave my lips, they are hard like a hiss of cold air and they strike him straight on. His eyes widen and I immediately regret my words and release him. It has always been this way. No matter how angry I may be at Theo, I always regret anything that is offensive towards him, thus is our relationship. Thus is our past._

_He leaves that day, his eyes sorrowful and almost mournful. But as he passes me to follow his father through the door, he grips the fold of my arm and pulls me close, embracing me. Like a brother. "Do not fear, Draco, what has not happened yet. You need only fear what has already occurred."_

Restless in my seat, I get to my feet and Blaise's face spreads into a grin, which can be described as nothing but cocky. "Always had a soft spot for Theo, didn't we Draco? The little child of Slytherin who secretly plots the downfall of everything he sees, no matter what side they belong to." I vaguely feel a heat on the back of my neck, but my mind is on returning to my private dorms, and I take my leave from them, walking towards Theodore. 

"Draco." He acknowledges as I draw close, but as I nod at him his hand appears from nowhere and halts my progression. "Your father came to tea at our house the night before last." I pause, feeling my breath become short in my chest and listen closer, "He looks well." I cannot understand where he is taking this, but continue to hear him. "We did however, not get to see Mrs Malfoy; mother was particularly upset about this." I feel the colour draining from my face and pushing him out of my way I try to leave the hall without running and I do succeed. Just.

Once in the hallways I break into a mad dash and once I am in my private study, I begin rummaging through a series of documents, which lie beside my bed, throwing papers everywhere. Finally, towards the bottom, I find a letter, the seal of the Malfoy clan pressed into a green, claggy wax. I can't open it quick enough and I struggle to understand his words.

_Your mother is not well, Draco. She has been little help since you've left for your final year, mulling over something in particular. Send her your regards, Son._

"Your mother is not well, Draco. She has been- she has been little help." I cannot seem to form the words with my own tongue without stuttering and throw the letter at the wall suddenly unable to contain the scream, which erupts from within me. "What have you done father?" I whisper, breath not coming easily to me and I sag to the floor, my back resting against the wooden boards of my bed's frame and rest my hands on my face.

_I am awake and the room is foggy with the heavy scents of incense and the mirrors wet with the stale stagnant scent of blood, water and healing balms. I try my voice, but my throat seems dry and scratchy, and after several tries, a fit of coughing overtakes me and my hands and bed sheets are splattered with blood. As the coughs subside and breath resides to my lungs I croak for aid and a figure runs through the door and pulls the curtains away._

_In a loose, white blouse, which buttons to her breasts and a long red skirt of silk and cream, my mother stands at my bedside, her eyes wide with surprise and her lips pursed in shock. "Moth-" the words don't fall from my lips before I am assaulted by a vicious embrace, which sends sharp pains down my back and brings memories of a frightening moment to the front. _

_He stands above me, his face splattered with glistening, red droplets and his blue eyes crazed and lunatic with a maniacal grin, but still I see his face. Lucius Malfoy stands proud of the bloody mess he has reduced his son to; finally Lucius Xavier Malfoy looks upon his son with something other than disappointment._

_Her hands grip the tops of my shoulders, but I cannot prevent the whimper, which escapes, from my lips and she quickly pulls away and forces me to lie back. As she tends to my wounds, she does not show any further affection and her hands work quickly to rearrange the bandages, which are becoming loose from my awakening. Finally she forces a potion down my throat and in the midst of choking I taste the acidic likeness to a Dreamless Sleep that it contains, whilst she dabs at the blood about me._

_Trying to speak again, she stops me with a hand, and pulls long fingers through her straight blond hair before tucking the bed sheets in around me. The potion is beginning to take affect, but before I fall desperately into this world of slumber, I strain my ears to hear her words, "Oh, Draco, if only I had never had a son."_

The bell rings for class and I get to my feet and pick up the scattered books, which I need for the day. An undeniable fear is rippling through my form like a vicious demon, but the source of it, I cannot be too sure of.

Transfiguration is first and after a reproval for my lateness, I sit through class my eyes focused on the blue sky, which lies just beyond engraved glass panes. The following class is Potions and Snape eyes me curiously, my lack of participation obvious, and instead I watch the curly haired girl one seat in front of me. Her shoulder length hair of pale brown with blond tinges, catching my line of vision, and I cannot help the shudder of delight which courses through my fingers. Remembering the way the skin of her neck, which lies just below that mane of hair, felt beneath them. Finally, arithmancy appears to end the day, and I sit alone in the classroom, her in the seat beside me as we do nothing but read. She reads quickly and efficiently, her eyes darting across the lines of words and her fingers flicking the pages with distinct accuracy. I cannot help but stare at her and finally with a huff of annoyance she slams the book shut and turns to face me.

I could try to contain the smirk which graces my pale lips, but there would be no satisfaction in that and I instead take delight in watching her brows crease in anger. "Is something you want, Malfoy? Something I can help you with, so that you will cease your infernal assessment?" I shake my head, returning to my book with an arrogant sneer, just managing to contain the words. _Nothing but you. _

The day slowly winds down, gracing me with the night in which to complete my thoughts, but when night falls, I find myself overcome by drowsiness and I stumble to my bedroom, asleep in matter of moments. But in slumber, faceless people plague my dreams and I wake later that night, sweating and gasping, and head to the bathroom to calm my senses.

"Goodnight, Seamus!" A voice lightly laughs and I watch as she pauses in the doorway and hugs her friend, holding him tightly, before they wrestle from each other's arms and separate. She closes the portrait and immediately shrieks when she finds me standing just metres behind her, watching her.

Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are bright and I cannot help but rekindle the thought that this girl can be anything but real. She pauses mid step, her hands filled with a hefty number of books and she opens her mouth, closes it again and then speaks.

"Malfoy. We didn't see you at dinner." Her words are clear and precise but as I watch her, I notice the furrow of her brow and the flickering of her eyes, as she seems to scan the room. I reach out and take hold of her chin, drawing her closer to me until she is a hairbreadth away and I smirk, as she squeaks very quietly.

"You notice when I'm away, Mudblood? I'm touched, truly touched." I whisper and her eyes glaze over with anger at the dirty nickname, and she shakes her face from my hold. She takes unsteady steps backwards and her cheeks appear to blush.

"So we're already back to this, are we Malfoy? I- I" she can't complete a sentence and I force my lips to turn up at their ends, instead of the frown which threatens my face.

_What is this feeling of turbulence in my stomach, this unease that I feel? _

"Fucking hell, Malfoy. I'm sick of this! All of it!" She screams at me, and I flinch, noticeably, so that she pauses in her ranting and takes a step back towards me. "What is all this?" I shrug at her, pretending that I don't notice the tension between us, which clouds the air, not looking at her as she takes another step forward, "Don't ignore me!" I refuse to meet her eyes and it is only when her hand connects with my cheek that I snap my eyes back to hers. "Don't fucking ignore me, Draco!" Her voice is shrill and I catch the offending hand before it can hit me again. She seems to stutter for a moment, looking for the right words and our hands play a battle of wills, hers twisting to get from mine, and my own trying to contain them. "Stop it! Just stop it already, Malfoy." Her whispers halt my fingers as they claw at the skin of her hands and I look to her face in time to see it look away, down at the carpet behind her. "You began this all and I got no say in it, but I won't have you ignore me! Not any more! You say I've placed some enchantment on you, but who are you to say that when you play such tricks and games, luring me out of my mind." Her face is bright and blushed and my eyes widen at her words, and slowly she eases her hands from mine and she leaves me there. Alone.

The night passes in restlessness, my mind distracted away from sleep with scents and forms and sights and when morning comes, it seems like I pass the day in a state of formless sleep. And then again, when night falls and morning rises in a matter of hours, I pass the day again with my eyes not focused, and my housemates words passing over me like waves. I notice nothing but that I do not see her again.

The weekend has finally begun and I sit at the breakfast table, listening to the excited chatter of all the students who are attending Hogsmeade, and grimacing at the mess that Crabbe and Goyle are making with their meals. Mail swoops through the windows on the feet of taloned birds, and I watch an ebony black owl, which I recognise as my fathers, soar downwards until it can rest on my outstretched arm. I unclasp the sealed letter and then, with a flick of my wrist, the bird takes flight. It would be pointless to offer the bird food for he eats naught but what Lucius feeds him.

I then leave the room and enter the hallway, leaning up against a shadowed wall where I can open the letter in private. I tear at the seal and as I read the letter, the air appears colder and I cannot stop my knees from crumpling beneath me.

_Your mother is dead, Draco. There is no need to return for the funeral for it shall be closed to all but her parents and I. All she owns has been left to you. Please do not worry about your mother, son. She died as she began- alone and in her sleep, leaving me with little help. I am well and hope to see you at the end of your year._

_Your Father, _

_Lucius Malfoy._

The air around me is silent and deathly still and I try to contain the rasp of my breath as it sags from my chest. I bite down upon my lip to contain the sob and smother my face in my hands, trying to block away the tears, which threaten to fall and realise that I cannot breath. My throat has closed over and what seemed so easy moments before is ever so hard. Then as if the spell, which was cast over me, has been released, the voices of excited students approach and I can breath again.

I stumble to my feet and look out from the dark drapes of shadows and pause, my eyes meeting golden brown ones, which belong to a pretty, rounded face. She sits on the bottom of the descending steps and she looks at me through the railing panels, her eyes confused and curious. I hold her gaze for a moment and I realise just what it is about her that seems so infatuating.

She has everything I don't and want.

She is everything I am and can't ever be.

And she is everything that I never wish to be.

She blushes prettily, her hair resting across a portion of her face and she opens her mouth to speak, but it is not her voice which fills both our ears, but Potter's, as he crosses the landing and makes his way to her. Her eyes are immediately drawn to him, with only a small look of oddity in my direction and the letter that I hold gently in my hand, crumples as I pinch myself.

_This is all real, _I tell myself, and suddenly nausea overwhelms me and I take off towards the closest bathrooms, where I upheave my breakfast. I crouch to the floor; the feet of other students not seen, and let out an almighty growl, my foot connecting with the cubicle wall as tears fall down my cheeks. I cannot form the words to curse the man that befalls the figure of my father and I swing a fist at the wall in anger, its connection rattling the walls with a crack, which ricochets through my wrist, and suddenly I can't stop the tears and I slump to the floor, sobs racking my form.

"_Draco! Draco, please get out of the sun!" She calls to me and I turn and watch her as she descends upon me and places a small cap, no bigger than her palm, upon my head. She doesn't touch me and her face doesn't offer an affectionate smile or a humorous smirk, but her eyes sparkle at me. They sparkle like the diamonds, which they resemble. "You can't play outside without this hat; your skin is much to fair. Fair like your fathers." Her hand appears to hesitate in the air beside my cheek but before I can blink it is at her side again and I blink up at her, the sunlight blurring my sight. She is beautiful. So beautiful I cannot touch her, so beautiful she seems to crack every time father smacks her across the cheek._

"_Your father shall return home tonight, Draco, and I don't want your cheeks red with the sun." She starts to turn away but pauses mid-step and abruptly her hand sweeps against the skin of my cheek. It rests there for a moment and I savour this momentary lapse of form for the short instant that it is bestowed. And then she is walking away, her posture straight and her shoulders curved attractively back. _

_Your mother is dead. _His words are like a hammer, giving yet another blow to my soul and as I gather my form, shielding my face with a solemn mask and straightening my back like the wealthy son that I am, I try to contain the crazed look which I can feel overwhelming me.

The pain in my hand and leg is searing and as I walk out of the toilets and through the Great Hall to the grassy grounds of Hogwarts, I take to a subtle limp, which aids me well. Blaise shoots me an inquisitive look, his eyes flowing to my leg and hand, which drips blood and then returns to my face, but I grimace and bear my teeth in a toothy grin. Theo falls into step with me, but I don't look at him and soon he falls behind and begins a conversation with Christian, their voices moulding into the background.

The town of hogsmeade is a hive of activity, constantly moving and always noisy, and I realise, as I enter a small dusty shop, that I still contain the traitorous parchment, now mattered with the blood from my hand.

"Ah, Mr Malfoy, so glad of you to come by." A small, stout man welcomes me from behind his desk and I glance at the objects above his head, my eyes gazing at several different items.

"You got my letter, I presume." He nods and I my eyes focus on the ornate wall off to the side, before continuing. "I was also hoping you could help me with something a little different."

"The school ball, of course! I have a selection just brought in on Professor Dumbledore's request. They're just over there, along that aisle over far. If you'll come with me now, though, you can look at them in a moment." I agree and follow him out back, my eyes skimming over the contents of the container, which I have ordered. "Quite a task you put for me, but I've definitely got what you wanted. Did you want it wrapped and packaged or just the way it is?" Wrapped, I answer and I leave him to his job, returning to the darkened shelves that he pointed to.

"Oh, Harry!" I am not alone in the shadows and I watch as a familiar girl spins, her curls swishing about her head as she turns to face me. But it is not Hermione Granger's face that I see, but that of a moon-faced cherub, with ghost white skin and pale pink cheeks. The mask that she wears accentuates the redness of her lips like cherries fresh from a tree and the amber clarity of her eyes as they widen, but I quickly halt her tense actions as she intends to pull it off her face and hold it there in place, her hand gloved within mine. "Malfoy." She acknowledges and I watch as she bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes curiously round. She wriggles her fingers, intending to wrench them free from my hold, her lack of comfort at our closeness obvious, but I flinch and she immediately turns her eyes to my injury. "Your- your hand, Malfoy." She whispers, her words light on the heavy air between us and for a moment we stare at the drops of red blood, which flow onto her creamy fingers. But the moment is broken as she shudders and her shoulders sag, and I need only to lean forward a little to catch her in my arms.

Her frame is tiny and petite within my arms and they grow tighter around her form, holding her to me as she breaths heavily, obviously not one for the sight of blood. I breathe in her scent: musty, dry and like the oil of tea-trees, and I discover that I am craving the moment when she will return the embrace.

"Malfoy." The silence is broken as her she speaks my name and I gently feel the touch of fingers upon the hair of my head and then I cannot contain the tears, which course, down my cheek and I need only to hold her tighter. So much tighter. "Malfoy?" There is a sense of alarm in her voice as she whispers and I choke on the salty trails, not able to contain the pain inside. We stumble and her back meets the shelf wall, but neither release our hold and I try to breath deeply my back shuddering.

_I thought that I could be strong about this. I thought that the death of a woman I hardly knew would not mean so much to me. I thought that the anger I felt would feel so natural, but nothing is like I thought. _

The gentleness of her fingers on my scalp is like returning home and finding Narcisssa Malfoy no longer afraid to embrace her son. And then I cannot contain myself, "She's dead. My mother's dead and I never said a word." I whisper and her hold grows tighter on me as if trying to keep me from drowning, as if trying to keep my head just above the surface.

Author's Note: That ladies and gentlemen is chapter 11, posted under no.12, because of the author's note. I hope you all liked it! That has to be one of the quickest updates I've done, I suppose, and I'm sure all the people who were commenting about my updating times will be pleased. At least I hope you will be. I like this chapter, and it introduces Theodore Nott who I discovered at JK Rowling's s 


	13. Bites of Darkened Minds

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P

**This the Beta'd version and I would just like to thank Takita for all her help!! I posted just before an un-beta'd version which I'm hoping you didn't read and are now waiting for this one, which has had the mistakes covered up- hehe. Thanks for reviewing, Cai.**

Chapter 12

As we stand in the shadows of the dusty old shelves, each one filled with a new and marvellous face, I cannot help but wonder how one's hair can be so soft. So soft that it almost feels like there's nothing beneath my fingers.

Almost, but not quite.

And then, I seek to answer the question of how someone's shoulder's can shake so much that it feels like they're going to fall apart at the seams, where tears wash down their cheeks. He shudders again and I can feel the edge of the bookshelf digging into the corner of my back, but I don't try to push him away, only hold him just that little bit tighter.

_She's dead. My mother's dead and I never said a word._ His voice echoes in my mind, drawing me deeper into the pit of despair, which I'm so desperately trying to hold him out of, but all I can think about is the warm wash of tears that fall on my neck and down the collar of my shirt.

"Oh god," I hear him whisper, as his shoulders shudder again and my ears perk up at his words, "I so hoped he would die and leave me alone, but he's always there. Always prowling at the corners of my mind till I'm paranoid with fear that he'll watch me fall." His hands move up my back, crossing over until each grips its opposite shoulder, and I feel myself pressed intimately against him. "I- I thought he would never go against that one, single bond. Whip his child, stab his child, but- but kill his wife?" he hisses in my ear, and I cannot help but tremble at his words, my eyes widening behind the porcelain mask, which barely separates me from this boy of dark shadows. "What is wrong with me, Hermione? What is so wrong with me that I must cry to a mudblood in the shadows of a some dusty little hole?" As my shoulders tense at the hateful words, I have to wonder whether he even realises what he's saying, or if he would say such things when he didn't seem so sad and like he was going to fall apart. "Why can't I stop crying for a woman who never once showed me an ounce of affection or told me even once that she loved me, like a mother should? Why do I feel so betrayed that she has left me alone in a house with the man who I thought to aspire to? With the man who I thought I would become?" He gasps out loud and chokes on his words, quiet, shattering sobs crackling in my ears, "He killed her, Hermione." I tense at his words. "With every breath in my body, I know he killed her," he tells me, his voice resonating through my body until it reaches my toes, and at the end of its journey a shudder ripples through me and tears leak from my eyes.

_How can there be such a man? How can such a man be allowed to have children? How can such a man still be alive? _bodiless voices whisper in my ears and my eyes flutter, as tears rush like streams down my cheeks. I want to hold him tighter, so much harder than I ever thought I would want to; all because he cries honestly, like a man who's lost his ability to breathe. I want to understand how I can feel so akin to him and hate him with such a fury. How can such a feeling be so real?

I stagger to breathe, feeling his hold grow even greater, if that is possible, and I try desperately to understand how we reached this moment in time. What did I do to feel so comfortable in my enemy's arms? But at the word _enemy_ I pause and feel the body shuddering against me, the hold of his arms, and the tickle of his breath against my cheek, and realise with drastic clarity, that there is so much more to this.

_Why me? _"Why me?" I do not realise that I have spoken the words in time with my thoughts until I feel his grip lessen and his form draw away, leaving behind a feeling of lost comfort, the feeling that once, in a distant past, I was held exactly like this. _Or was it just a dream?_

He takes a step backwards and I barely notice the trails of salt that cake his cheeks, his hair drawn so far over his face that I cannot see those eyes. "Why what, Granger?" he whispers, his words barely alive, but more like the crackle of leaves beneath my feet. "Why did he kill my mother? Why did he stab his son? Why do I feel such despair when he killed a woman that meant nothing to any of us? Is that what you're asking? Is that what you're asking me, when I can't seem to stop _fucking_ crying?" He grabs hold of my shoulders, shaking me and I slowly raise my eyes to meet his and feel tears dribbling down my cheeks.

"No, Draco, I wondered why it was me who you cried to?" I whisper and his eyes widen suddenly, leaving his silvery, blue pools open for me to see everything. "Why do you tell me all this? When... when you're a... _when you're going to be just like him."_ I whisper the last words, adding to the tension in the air and watch the grief in his face unfold, bringing to life a picture of misery.

He takes his hands away from me and pushes up his shirtsleeve, leaving his left forearm bare. "I am not marked, Mudblood!" He hisses at me and shoves the skin of his pale, milky arm in my face. "See this skin, Granger?" he lashes out and grabs hold of my chin, drawing it closer. "I am not like him! When he drew the knife from my side and recoiled the whip with my blood and bone covering it, I decided I would never be like him! When I went swimming with Blaise Zabini and found myself faced with a ten year old's back, which was littered with deep, white scars, drawn by his father's hand, I decided, even if he would never know, that I would never walk his path. Don't you understand? I look just like him, I say what he tells me to say and I pass the peas like he tells me to, but I am not like him!" His voice breaks at those last words and I wonder if he will start crying again, and realise that I wish he would. Seeing such an open Draco would be the turning point in my life and I don't think I would doubt him again. "Your little red-haired friend said that I would never fit with you, that I only wish for the impossible when I wake and hope to find myself not like him, but the truth is, I've gotten my wish. Every word of passion that I breathed in your ear brought me further away from him, and..." his voice trails off and one thumb traces the curved bones of my chin. "...And I would bring you with me. I wouldn't leave you to face it all on your own. No matter what people say, I can show gratitude, and for you I'd show every inch that I have to offer." I clench my eyes shut, knowing that he speaks of something so wonderful, knowing that he can see the demons in my mind and feel them with the hands that gently enclose my face and draw me over to him. "I would tell you everything, be anything you want me to be," his lips brush gently against mine, then pause just above them, "because I've seen the girl behind the mask and I can't get her face out of my head." He kisses me with a vicious fire, which is so utterly gentle, in contradiction to everything that I associated with him, that I want to sob and choke in distress. _How could something that sounds so good be true?_

"She was wrong; your friend, Ginevra," he whispers, his lips resting just above mine. "I am the only one that sees the real you, the only one who knows how sad it is to find yourself torn between walking two different paths..." He trails off and I pull away and look at him, staring at him through holes in a pretty mask.

He blinks for a moment, unsure of what to do and then he leans forward and ever so slowly presses his lips against mine. And I must gasp in astonishment, because I would never find myself so willing again. Never did I think that he could possess such emotions or pool them into one single gesture. But when he pulls away I cannot stop the groan, which escapes my lips, and I blush, albeit behind the mask. "I saw the girl behind the mask and I liked what I saw," he whispers as he kisses me again and one hand curls around a tuft of my hair behind my ear and his other tugs the mask from my face. The hand holding the ornament pauses at my cheek, his fingers rubbing gently over my cheekbones, and then it strays to my shoulder and a clatter tells the tale of it dropping to the floor.

Our eyes meet for a moment, and I can feel the allurement of the dragon, his mercury eyes calling to the heat in my cheeks and suddenly I am returning the kiss.

A kiss behind books, just like this one, began a peculiar moment in our lives, but it all seems so different now that I have seen some of who the real Draco Malfoy is. There is something so noticeable in him that I can't ignore, because in him I see something that I was so sure would never be mine again. A confidence, even if it is in something different, which makes him so absolutely sure.

I run my hands over his shoulders and up into his hair, which I tug tightly and use to pull him closer, and as I do so, our lips meld together. Tongues and teeth meshing together in an elegant blend of fury, passion and pain, begin this wild dance, and I find that I can name what I tasted originally, but couldn't make sense of. Coffee and sugar are spread throughout his mouth like he is coated in it, and as our kiss turns more passionate and his hands brush against the inside of my shirt, I find myself craving both things like a drug.

The kiss slowly dies and I gently open my eyes, my lids fluttering a little and find myself blushing hotly under his deep stare. His eyes are red-rimmed and slightly crazed, but beneath it all I can see a passion that threatens to bowl me over with intensity.

"Hermione? Hermione, you here?" The sound of footsteps echo, and as I turn, a person appears at the edge of the bookshelf. Realising that I am no longer masked behind the face of an innocent, I struggle within myself between pushing away Draco's hands and leaving them where they are, finally resolving to look over my shoulder.

My cheeks are red, I can tell without a mirror present, and I watch with wide eyes as my friend turns and lays eyes on the two of us. The situation is not obvious; we could have been doing anything, but he knows. He knows without even moving his eyes to look at the blond haired boy beside me that there is so much more to this all. His green eyes widen and in something par to slow motion he swallows and runs a shuddering hand through his mass of unruly, black locks.

The look on his face is devastating and I feel the air rush out of me in a whoosh and tears pool in my eyes. "I... I..." I whisper and he raises a hand, shakes his head and finally his eyes meet mine. The hand that rests on the curve of my hip tenses and I can feel the fingers of this god-like boy dig into my side, showing just how nervous he truly is.

"You told me... you told me to meet you," Harry murmurs and I nod hastily, trying to speak but the words won't come to me and I want to cry in frustration. "I only came... Oh God, Hermione..."

He trails off and slumps against the shelf beside him and rubs the palms of his hands over his face. His mouth thins and finally I feel the words form, "No, Harry, I didn't..."

"Not now, Hermione, not now..." he interrupts me and finally the dams break and my tears fall over themselves to get free. Both of Draco's hands grow tighter on my shoulders and I can't feel part of my arm. "Not now..." Harry whispers, his voice cracking and suddenly, with a swirl of his cloak, he turns and leaves.

His form blurs as more tears pool in my eyes and I swallow, stumble and feel, with an assailing breath, myself grow faint. _Harry... Harry just walked away from me._ I retrieve my hands from their standstill in mid air and crash back into the bookshelf, covering my face and biting back an incoherent sob. The hands that touched me have disappeared and I can't contain the tears, which burst forth at that moment, trickling over my fingers like the grief which assails me. I cannot contain the sobs, and I think I will drown in the feeling which is bubbling up in stomach, but find it stopped as smooth hands pull my own away. "Hermione? Granger?" I look up, and suddenly the blood rushes from my head and only his hold on me stands me upright.

"Oh God..." I whisper and finally look up at him, seeing a look of shock in those deep, shadowy eyes. "Harry just... he left me..." I whimper and he shakes me till I can see his face, pale and pasty with shock.

"I... It wasn't meant to happen..." The unsureness in his voice brings me back down to earth and I struggle against his arms, biting carelessly down on my lip until blood dribbles down from there. "You don't have to go after him," he hisses at me and I whip my head up to meet his and without a moment's thought, slap his cheek. His hold on me drops away and he clasps a hand to his cheek, not even trying to contain the blow to his spirit that was delivered.

"NO, DRACO... I do have to go after him... I d- Oh my fucking God, he saw me... he saw you." My voice trails off to an anti-climax and my lips begin to shake and my chin to wobble as everything begins to assault me. "Harry... Harry hates you with a loathing, Draco. He hates you more than Ron hates you because your father lured me away that night... Oh God... he'll...I don't know what he's going to do." I shudder, trying to slow the chorus of words which drip off my lips, "I didn't mean to... I didn't think I'd get so caught up in this all... that this and everybody would mean so much to me, but they do. God, they do." I whisper and look to the floor, my eyes landing on the white, porcelain mask which is lying there, beside wet splotches where my tears have caressed the wooden boards. I crouch, pick it up and then turn away from him and walk to the counter. "I... I'd like to purchase this." I tell the storeman and our hands exchange money and the parcel is wrapped.

Turning away from the small bald man with a flattering temperament, I walk back up to my companion and hold it out to him, waiting for him to take it. He doesn't move and I hastily wipe at the tears dribbling down my cheeks and shake it at him. Still he doesn't and I shout, "Goddamnit, Draco Malfoy, take the bloody package!" He slowly holds it, his neatly manicured fingers wrapping around it and blinks uncomprehendingly at me.

"My father did what?" he whispers at me, and I shake my head trying to contain the fear, which is growing in the pit of my stomach.

"He'll kill you..." I whisper and suddenly I am running and the stretch of Hogsmeade lies before me with the form of Harry Potter, and behind me in the shadows of a little, unknown store stands Draco Malfoy. Both men, I realise, are so utterly important to me and, although right now I must make amends with the boy who saw what was and wished he hadn't, I so hope, with a devastating blow of vulnerability, that when I turn back around and step into the shadows, that the other will take my hand and lead me through it all.

Author's Note: Hi, hi! This was another pretty quick update- about 1 month, I think, and I'm hoping that you enjoyed this. I have discovered, whilst writing this chapter that I much prefer writing Draco's POV instead of Hermione's, or at least that the ideas flow much more easily for his profile. Perhaps it's because I write depressing stuff or emotional stuff a lot better, but whatever it is, I had a bit of trouble writing lots from her point of view... as you might notice with the length of this chapter.

Thanks to all of you who reviewed!

Cai


	14. Pleads of Passionate Dreams

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P

Chapter 13 

I scan the crowd for the familiar wash of jet-black hair that I know so well, but everywhere I look is a red head, a blond, a brunette; not a single head of shamelessly messed-up black in sight. My heart is pounding desperately in my chest and I want to stop and catch my breath, slow my pace and cool my face, but the memory of his expression reminds me why I'm so desperate to find him.

"_You told me… you told me to meet you,_" he whispers in my ear, like an ongoing betrayal and I want to slap myself, drown myself for putting that forbidden expression back on his face. I'd promised myself, every single day since that dreadful moment when I awoke to his screams, that I would never let him be hurt again, never again, but I did. _"Not now, Hermione, not now…"_ Harry, who hadn't denied me anything, denied my rights to words… denied my explanation.

"Oh god…" I whisper to myself, "I've got to find him." Flashes of that night run havoc in my mind as my hands begin to tingle and I lean heavily against a shadowed wall and cover my face. "No, please not now." And I am drawn deep into the horrors of our past.

"_Ginny! Ginny, have you seen the boys?" I whisper desperately, my search for two of the most important males in my life becoming hopeless. But she shakes her head and says that the two boys were called away by Professor Dumbledore. "Please, Ginny, if they told you anything, tell me!" I'm startled to hear my voice become shrill and high-pitched, but I can't control the shuddering in my heart and the roar of blood in my ears as I dread what the two might be up to_.

"_Hermione! Calm down, Mione!" She pinches my arm and I squeak, coming out of my stupor for a moment, enough to listen to my friend and recognise that she knows nothing. "They're fine, Mione, they just told me that they had to go and meet the Headmaster about some matters to do with The Order._"

"_You mean you didn't see the request?" I stutter and she shakes her head_.

_They told me… they told me… three words in her sentence send shivers down my spine and I spin and head towards the portrait hole, but almost there, her voice stops me. "Is something the matter, Mione?" I cannot answer; all I can do is whisper the password and clamber through the hole in the wall, the words of the letter that Harry received the evening before running haywire in my head_.

**_The dark lord requests a meeting with you, Mr Potter, and he doesn't like to be kept waiting. There is a passageway, which leads from your school to a field long past Hogsmeade. Bring with you who you wish_… **

_There are further words of insistence that the young man, of but 16 years, make his way there stealthily, but I didn't read another word of the letter, I only looked at his face. He will go alone, was what I thought when I looked at him, or he will take Ron or I, but he will not ask for Dumbledore, or Lupin; he will take only the essential_.

"_Oh Harry…" I whisper and pause, drawing on a desperate, shuddering breath, and lean my hand against the wall to steady myself. "Couldn't you have brought me too, I know you mean so well… but why do you- why do you leave behind another set of able hands." I continue creeping through the hallways, keeping to shadows until I reach the indicated space in the wall. There lies a dark portrait of trees and rocks, but on a hill in the distance stands a figure looking upwards. From a branch hangs a swinging figure and the only sound that the bleak portrait emits is that of sobs. The painting is foreboding and I shudder and rub my arms as an uncharacteristic shiver runs through me. "What happened?" I whisper aloud and the sobbing cuts short and the figure turns to look at me, their form black_.

"_She forgot that loving is but an experience in life, one filled with pain and gladness. Oh, God! I would have kept her steady… As her friend… her lover, I would have been by her side. That was… that was my place in her life." He grieves and as a wind picks up and he takes hold of her form, weeping into his love's dress-clad feet, I stick my hand through the painting. The wall is hollow backed, the painting a ghostly illusion, and with a single glance at the surrounding hallway, I step through and into darkness_.

_Before me lies a long passageway, its walls stony and damp with a mouldy residue and as I take an unsteady step in the direction of my fate, I run a hand along its surface. It is clammy and I hesitantly retract my hand and have to repeat to myself, over and over: 'Harry is there. Ron is there. Harry is there.' to stop my feet from turning tail and running back through the illusional wall to the Headmaster or McGonnagol or even Snape. And once there, I would scream at them and yell at them that their prodigy has left the safety of their world._

"_Oh God, Harry, I don't think I can do this…" I whisper to no one in particular and take an unsure step backwards. I desperately reflect on the moment when Harry learnt his first unforgivable, his first obliviate, and I realise that I am so sad at the thought that they might ruin him. No, scrap that. They WILL ruin him. There is such a maturity and anger which comes from casting such dreadful things that I hate to think that I will see his immaturity, his youth and his blessed innocence drop away like an unwanted skin. "God, Harry, others would have come along," I sob. But as footsteps resound in my ears, I tighten my hold on my wand_.

_It is a black clad figure, their entire form hooded and face masked in the whiteness of realistic nightmares. "Ms Granger," a voice sneers and I want to whimper at the effect such a voice has on me; feeling drops of sweat roll down the back of my neck and my skin break out in goosebumps. "I do believe we've never been properly introduced." His voice is like the sharp surface of a knife, grating over me and leaving me feeling bare and open to the world. I know who this is._

_I sit beside his son in arithmancy and am partnered with him as my prefectural round's partner. I want to take a step backwards, but I find myself rooted to the spot with fear, a tremor of the subtle emotion running through me, and I grind my teeth together to prevent the scream I want to let loose. Late at night, when I walk along the corridors of Hogwarts in the dark dankness of night, I hear the beginnings of this voice from a seventeen-year-old boy and I want to run. "I see that you're not as conversational as my son makes you out to be. He tells me you have quite a mouth on you, Mudblood," he reveals and I find myself growing more and more afraid as I realise that I am discussed by this man's family. "Running off to find your beloved Potter, Mudblood dirt?" he suddenly whispers and with an easy step forward, he has me pinned against the wall, his own face directly hovering above mine. His hand trickles over my skin and into my hair, where his fingers curl around it. "Speak! Or is Harry Potter's slut so afraid without her two men that she can't do a thing." His fingers tug painfully on my hair, pulling my head upwards and I find my eyes meeting his. "Did you honestly think that Dumbledore would come with you? That he would save that stupid boy of yours? That he would save you from the clutches of the Dark Lord?" he hisses at me, and his eyes look over my face, pulling my hair tighter and eliciting a squeak of pain from me. "He cares nothing for you or any of the other students, only his precious Harry Potter, who, after tonight, will be dead and cold at the feet of My Lord." He whispers to me and I choke on tears of fear_.

"_Oh, my dear, I didn't ruin your precious world, did I? The world, which you seem to see through rose-coloured glasses." He jokes and I bite down on the quiver of lip but cannot contain the tear, which slips down my cheek. I shudder as he nears me and squeeze my eyes shut just as I see the tip of his tongue escape from the confines of his lips. But even with my eyes shut, I can still feel the drag of it across my cheek and I gag and tremble, feeling sullied and dirtied_.

_Oh please, oh please let this be some awful dream! Let Harry and Ron be in their beds right now and I awake to find this some dreaded nightmare! My thoughts wish and I grieve the return of reality as I open my eyes and find him standing over me, a vulture of shadows. "You taste like the dirt; maggot-infested, shit-covered dirt!" He sneers and before I can flinch away, he spits and I can feel the grotesque substance dripping down the bridge of my nose. "Did you follow after your two friends, Mudblood, to aid them in their adventure? Is that why you're here? Or do you intend to run away like your cowardly race and tell the Mudblood-Lover?" He cackles and a shiver runs up my spine to the base of my neck. He begins to laugh atrociously, "You cannot aid the dead, Miss Granger! No one can help your friends now! They were dead the minute they left the confines of that hallway and stepped away from your brains and Dumbledore's precious walls._"

"Granger?" I look up from my hands; tear's blurring my sight but the figure of Theodore Nott is easily distinguishable. Who but the notorious Slytherin could have such a presence and be without one all at the same time? "I wasn't… I mean; I didn't…" I pause mid-sentence, wondering why I am trying to defend myself against a boy whose eyes have already turned a shade of disinterest. I run a hand over my face and when I open my eyes I find myself still face to face with this dreamy-looking boy.

"You're Potter's friend, aren't you?" He asks, his voice a deep whisper and my eyes widen at his question, "And Draco's…" he leaves the sentence unfinished, ready to accept however I choose to end it and I pause in my immediate analysis of this boy. I've spent seven years at school with him but know nothing about him except that his father was captured on our mission to the Ministry of Magic when Sirius fell through the veil in the Mysterious Department.

At the thought of Harry's Godfather I feel a deep sadness settle over me like a suffocating blanket and I suddenly feel the inevitable tiredness creep into my senses which comes from years of constant worry. The death of Sirius was like a harsh blow to everything that I had ever believed to be true and right. How could one who was so right and so wonderful to my best friend in a world that treated him so ill, be killed by someone so wrong? The question that I had asked myself so often came crashing back and I stagger to my feet. I feel crippled by it. A dreadful sorrow seeps into my bones and into my consciousness and all I can think to do is doubt myself and everything that I'd ever fought for.

"Why did you let them do it?" I suddenly moan at him and before I know it, my hands are around his neck and I want to squeeze so tightly that his last breath will escape him and they will know the pain that we went through. The look on his face as I launch myself at him is like a boy being told his favourite dog has died and that he won't get to say goodbye and hence, he doesn't block my attack. "Surely you knew! Surely you couldn't have missed such plans when your own father was behind it," I hiss. He falls to his knees, my hands growing bolder and stiffer as his own grow weaker and his nails begin to claw at my hold, "Didn't you realise what they were going to do? Didn't you want to stop another generation from being killed? Didn't you, Theodore!" His hands have stilled in their relentless scrambling to unbind my hands from around his neck and I pause mid-strangle and stare into his eyes. They're deep and blue and like buckets of the ocean. "Dear God, why didn't you? Why didn't you try to stop them?" And we both blink as tears drip from my eyes onto his cheeks, rolling over their murky white surface and down to the hollow of his neck.

"I remember you from my sixth year," he whispers and my hands fall away and I bring them up to smother the tears, which creep down my cheeks. "You missed out on a lot of school at the beginning of the year. I saw you once. You were supposed to tutor me when we came back to school but you didn't come and I ended up accompanying Draco to the hospital wing."

"You were there?" I whisper, my eyes growing wide with fear and anguish. "Then you saw Harry and I?" He nods and gets off his knees and grips my elbow, drawing me in close. He's not much taller than me, only a couple of inches, but it's enough for him to have to lean down to whisper in my ear. "It was impossible for me to be brave, Granger. In my world, you can be brave and die or you can be weak and live; and fuck this bloody world, but I didn't want to die!" His words cling to my skin and send a shiver down my spine. "I grew up with a man who wanted nothing more in life then to send his child to a cold and lonely deathbed. I spent every night with a man who told me through my dreams that the world was a place of horror and grievance, a world where my only place in life was at the foot of a demon where I was to swear my allegiance to a figure who I knew would never win." My eyes widen at his words and my fingers curl around his elbow and try to pull him away. But as I try to get this boy and his subtle, scaring words away from where they're embedding themselves in my mind, his hands take hold of my shoulders and draw me further into his folds. "But just because I knew the truth and realised what a _fool_ he was, doesn't mean that I was willing to give up my life. I'm not a saint, Granger, and I'm certainly not some messiah like bloody Potter; willing to put my life on the line for anyone. I spent every god given day on this earth being tortured by a man who I thought was meant to love me, the man who was meant to play the part of caring father, but who instead thought that my dying for some ridiculous thing was such a better livelihood. And if I didn't sacrifice myself for his ways than he would, all the same, rather see me dead." I scramble away and back myself up against a wall.

"I don't want to hear anymore, Nott." I tell him, but he just laughs and takes another step to invade more of my personal space.

"Don't you get it, Mudblood? We children of the Death Eaters: Draco, Blaise, Christian, Pansy, are all victims of a world that wishes to makes our decisions for us. We're all party to a world that deems itself worthy and high enough to make the decision about whether we live or die. But I, I was told to die and I didn't want to. Do you hear that, Mudblood?" I duck underneath his arm and head off down the road, desperate to get away from his yells. "I didn't want to die just yet!"

I run away, my feet beneath me clumsy and I stagger, faultering mid-step as I feel tears rolling down my cheeks. "Why am I crying for him?" I sob and begin to run again, Theodore Nott's voice dying in the background, but in my ears I hear another's.

"_What are you doing, Malfoy! You're a deatheater's son!" I croak at him as I return to the present world, and suddenly his body, which was pressed so hotly and perfectly up against mine, is tense and stiff._

"_But I don't have a choice!" His voice suddenly breaks and his eyes are wide and almost frightened, "There are bonds, Granger which you and your little, fucking friends can't see, but they're there, and they're cutting."_

"Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?" I whisper, my words brushing against my cheeks as I run so determinedly after my broken friend. Listening to the words of these boys is like awakening a part of myself that I thought was dead and buried, a part of me which feels so alive but so doggedly drenched in sadness. The scars, which their families have littered their minds with, are like looking at a photo of Harry, Ron and I, and seeing the wounds which we've been forced to bear. "God, Harry, they had no say in it either…" I whisper just before my vicious running sends me tumbling head on into another friend, apologies and explanations rushing from my lips before we have landed.

"Hermione! It must be my lucky day!" Seamus' voice fills my ears and I cannot contain the smile which tugs at my face as we both clamber to our respective feet. "Where are you going in such a rush?" he asks casually and I suddenly remember where I was going.

"Harry? Seamus, have you seen him?" I ask breathlessly, even standing still and talking to my friend, I find my eyes darting across the street to the straggling children and the group of friends, hoping to find him hiding somewhere amongst them all. "I have to find him, so if you've seen him, please tell me." I plead and he scratches the back of his head.

"Well I saw him a little while ago, he was talking agitatedly to Ginny for a moment and then he headed off back towards the school." Before he's even finished his sentence, I have taken off again and I can hear him puffing along after me. "Hermione!" He calls in worry, "What's this all about, Mione?" He calls but I can do nothing until I've reached the front entrance of the school.

"I've done something awful, Seamus. You were right, Malfoy was bothering me, at first, but now… now there is so much more at stake than just us." I whisper and push the doors open in time to see Harry crossing the landing.

"Harry!" I cry after him and he pauses mid-step. "Don't walk away from me, Harry James Potter!" I scream, my voice shrill with a terrible ache within me, as I watch him turn his back on me. "I… I…" I can't seem to form the words, which I so desperately want to tell him. Words which speak of not only the passion that I feel for the blond haired boy, but the adoration that I feel for this ebony-haired boy and our rugged red-haired siblings, without even having to look into their faces or see their forms. I want to tell him about the terrible fits within me and the self loathing and doubt which streams through me every time I see even a drop of my own blood. And so I scream.

My voice ricochets about the opening of the school like a banshee's cry and Harry pauses in the constant shaking of his head to look back at me. "Why won't you look at me?" I whisper and raise my eyes to meet his own shadowy green ones, feeling a great desperation run through me. "Seven years I've watched you make mistakes. I've watched you take risks and I've seen you dream about a life which is so different to what it is now, and I've let you do all those things because I knew that they would one day help you to become the person you are now!" I sob at him, clenching and unclenching my hands by my side. "But I don't know who I am, Harry! I've lost where I'm going and what I want to do! I don't have any purpose in my life but to wonder…"

"Hermione? You don't have to do this…" Seamus who stands back and watches it all has taken a step towards me and his hand is reaching out towards me. Out of the corner of my eye I see it and I shy away, desperate to explain, to plead, on my own.

"No!" I scream, "The only purpose I could find with my life, Harry, is to wonder how long it would take for Voldemort's blood to become my own and for me to one day turn on you! I have to do this, Harry." I cry at him, "With him I feel something again. With him I've found a purpose!" Harry shakes his head and takes a step away from me, "NO HARRY!" I scream at him, but before I can lunge forward, Seamus' arms are around me and they're holding me back. "SEAMUS, LET ME GO! DON'T DO THIS, HARRY!" I swing my arms about and finally they connect with some part of Seamus and his hold slackens enough so I can run forward and wrap my arms around Harry's neck, burying my face in his shoulder. "I never denied you anything, Harry, not one single thing." I whisper to him but his face doesn't turn back around. "He's not perfect and he's definitely not for me, but the passion that is there; that is for me. Every single thing that I feel is real, Harry. For the first time since that dreaded night when you left me and took Ron, I can feel happiness again, I can feel sadness, anger, bitterness. It doesn't matter what it is; only that I can feel it again." I tell him and remember the wounds that cover Malfoy's back, remember the darkness in Nott's face and wonder if it could all just be a hoax, something created to instil in my mind a sympathy. But then I ask, where could they have found such eyes; eyes which I see everyday in the mirror and in the faces of my young friends; eyes darkened only through the darkest of moments. "They're all so ruined, Harry, just like you and me. They have scars which only we could see and believe…" I speak into the curve of his neck and feel the hairs underneath my fingers raise up on their ends. "If I have to choose between him and you, I think I'll fall apart and I'll never be put back together again because neither choice makes me who I want to be. Before, Harry, I didn't know who I was going to turn out as," I tell him and slowly feel his head begin to turn back towards me, "But with him, I have some idea. With him I feel like my heart is breaking in sorrow at the way life has treated him, but also growing with this something that I've never felt before." His head curves into the fold of my head and I breathe in his scent.

"Go on…" he whispers and I sob, my hands holding him tighter, hoping that he won't pull away.

There is a wetness on my neck, "I know you don't and won't ever approve, but God, Harry let me make this _mistake,_ let me become the person who I am meant to be…" he shudders and I realise that the wetness that I can feel are his tears, "because, Harry, whoever that person turns out to be, they won't leave your side." I plead with him desperately, wanting him to hold me back and let me go at the same moment.

Author's Note: Oh my gosh, golly gee whiz, this has taken a while, hasn't it? I am so sorry to you all for the horrible time that it took to update this story. I've been so busy this semester with University and the fact that I turned 18 in August and gained somewhat more of a social life, but now that Uni is over, hopefully I'll be able to bring out a couple more chapters than usual. Though, I can't make promises because I'm trying to finish editing and rewriting my book whilst also beginning something new and a little different to my usual interest in fantastical dramas with a tinge of romance. I'd just like to thank you all for being so patient and whoever reads this chapter is such a champ for sticking with the story. Thanks to all the reviews I go, I can't believe I've gotten 241 reviews, in comparison to some stories its shit all, but to me it s a lovely, lovely number :). You get to see a bit more of Theo in this chapter too, I hope you liked it, and I'd love to hear all your comments, but be gentle. Thanks to my Beta- Takita, too.

Cai


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